Through the Valley
by Writer Awakened
Summary: FE8. The war has begun. Renais has fallen. Seth is dead. Now lost somewhere in the heart of Grado, Eirika and Forde struggle to fight out from under the shadow of death.
1. Fear

_Through the Valley_

- O -

(Author's Note: I don't like to ramble much, so I'll be brief. This story is an answer to the question "What if Valter had killed Seth at the beginning of the game?"

Although most of it is contained in the first two chapters of this story, **be warned** of a few disturbing scenes, language, and plentiful sensuality throughout.

…so now that I've got your attention, enjoy the story!)

- O -

Big thanks to Meelu the Bold for beta reading this chapter.

- O -

_Prologue: the shadow of death_

- O -

In the light of the mid-afternoon sun, Eirika's eyes flickered with fear. The princess of Renais fled her homeland, clinging tightly to the back of her guardian's vest as he rode. Her guardian wanted to assuage his liege lady's fears, but could find no suitable words.

General Seth, his youthful face as inscrutable as stone, charged through the castle gates and down the town's Main Road towards the open plain. Roofs of houses and storefront signs were consumed by flame. Soldiers of Grado with spears and shields poured into the castle city colored purple and gray, their greaves clanking against the cobblestone road. They made a hollow sound like the bones of birds being snapped underfoot.

Soldiers with the emblem of Renais emblazoned on their chest lay lifeless. Their corpses were scattered haphazardly, arms flopped over comically, like marionettes with strings severed by singing swords. Turquoise and green banners waved with burning hands and bid goodbye to the men who drew their last breaths beneath them.

On horseback, it was easy for Seth and the princess to ride past the chaos and the enemy forces pouring into the castle city. The Main Road ran direct from the castle gates to the city gates. The plain, with open space for horses and wyverns to roam and strike, would be infinitely more dangerous. Seth knew that if they made it to the mountain pass to the west, they would be safe enough. From there, it was not a long ride to the Frelian border at Fort Mulan. There would be plenty of time to regroup and catch their breath later. He had already sent Franz ahead to inform the border guard of their arrival.

"Hold on tightly," the general yelled, as Princess Eirika wrapped her arms around his torso, clutching clothes. Seth pushed his horse forward past the city streets, faster as they reached the green plains and started riding west into the wind. The general briefly looked back at the castle and the enemy soldiers cascading through the gates he lived to defend. Those people, that land—they were his life, his dedication, and his well-being. He was seized at once by sorrow and guilt. His duty was to his princess, but his place was at the gates.

Eirika's bracelet still rested on her arm, and Seth's hand felt for the rapier at his side to ensure he hadn't dropped it. He planned to hand the princess her familiar foil when they had eluded their pursuers.

Seth rode on and Eirika tapped on his shoulder, her face pressed against the back of his vest. She swallowed away her fright and said, "Seth, in the sky!"

Seth looked up. A gray-green figure soared towards them through the sky, knifing sharply downward. At the last possible moment, the general tugged on the reins of his horse as a wyvern and its master landed before them, clawing into the earth with two darkly-scaled limbs, rending the dirt with its blackened talons. The bastard-dragon shrieked and Seth's horse recoiled. Eirika clung tightly to Seth's back, holding her breath in fearful silence, hiding in her retainer's shadow.

The knight may well have walked out of the back pages of a storybook. His dark armor, plated and heavy, was stained rust red with blood. In his left hand, he held a metal chain, looped around his wrist and back around his mount's neck to control it as it thrashed about. In his right hand, he clutched a serrated spear, clearly a weapon meant to murder. The rider was an utter mess of humanity, something horrible with disheveled teal hair and a bloodstained smile—a brutal, carrion-feeding corpse of a man on a half-dead wyvern. He cackled and Seth shuddered violently.

"Stand aside!" Seth shouted, hand on his sword.

"Brave little lion of Renais," the wyvern knight said in a deep voice tainted by a dry rasp. He tilted his head and looked down on the Seth and the princess. "Nothing that enters my snare escapes. Are you trying to escape like a little mouse, general? Maybe you think you can elude Grado's forces with the wayward princess in tow?"

"I will not yield to you," Seth said, drawing his sword. The blade caught the light, and he pointed it at the plated chest of the dark knight. The sight filled Princess Eirika with hope: Seth was the white knight with the shining sword, fated to vanquish the evil, monstrous black knight. Seth's blade had been blessed by divinity, and although the princess did not seriously believe the bed-time tales or fairy-stories her father told her, the thought gave her strength.

The wyvern shrieked again and Seth urged Eirika to stay still behind him. Seth stared down the wyvern's rider, watched as he in turn surveyed him, vulture-eyed, trying to judge his strength by how ornate his breastplate was.

"You would fight me?" the wyvern knight said, thoroughly amused. "I, the most feared general in the Grado Empire? I, Valter, the Moonstone?"

"Move aside," Seth said. He did not flinch.

"As I thought. If you think you can get away, go. I'll give you a running start. Let's see how fast the living dead can run." The wyvern knight pulled on his reins and jerked his beast's neck upward until it pushed off the ground, slicing up into the air high above them. It twisted in mid-air and flew in the direction of the mountain pass, directly above Seth's intended path. Seth tightened the grip on his reins.

"Hold on," he said. With a tug, he spurred his horse forward and streaked as fast as possible across the field. The wind whistled and whirled past his face.

The wyvern in the distance started to turn, wings cutting a half-circle in the sky. As Seth approached, the beast slowly descended through the sky. It was brutally clear: the rider was out for blood. Seth prepared himself. The riders converged at an alarming rate, the wyvern barreling in, shrieking horribly, its dark rider aiming the point of his spear at Seth's heart.

"Princess," Seth yelled through the wind. "Do not let go!"

"I won't!" Eirika promised. She grabbed fistfuls of Seth's clothing and, morbidly curious, peered over his shoulder at the beast on a collision course with them. "I won't let go!"

Seth raised his sword as the wyvern closed in. At the very last moment, he saw the rider sneer. The image of his sallow, sunken smile put a dagger in Seth's heart.

It seemed as though the dark knight's spear were spinning in midair. Time slowed and strangled General Seth.

The serrated edge of the rider's spear caught the light and his wyvern darted with frightening grace. Seth had only begun to swing his sword when the lance pierced his lung like a lightning bolt. It was as if his mail and leathers were not even there. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. He cried out. Seth knew immediately that he was going to die.

The wyvern flew past, its rider cackling, holding only the broken shaft of his spear. His laugh seemed to echo on the winds. Eirika screamed.

The lance thrust had knocked the general backwards, his sword flying from his fist; his left hand's death-grip on the reins was the only reason he avoided being thrown off immediately. He'd been a talented jouster in life. He lurched forward, groaning, struggling for even the shallowest of breaths. His horse took a few more steps before rearing up, whinnying in fear, hurling him and the princess against the grass roughly before galloping away towards the bright horizon.

Seconds before everything became a blur, Seth thought, _Run._

"Ru—" Seth opened his mouth and gurgled. His right hand clutched the splintered head of the lance tightly, as though he could close the wound if he held on just a few precious moments more. Blood spilled out between his fingers. His left hand fumbled fruitlessly for the rapier at his side. "—n."

As soon as she had caught her breath, Eirika crawled towards her retainer and looked into his eyes as they started to roll back in his head. When she pulled away his tattered doublet, she had to avert her eyes. Underneath his chainmail, the entire front of his undershirt was stained crimson. She clenched onto his arm and gently shook him. The fall had twisted his neck awkwardly; when he tried to move it, he could not.

"Seth! Seth!" Eirika cried as she knelt beside him, knees burrowing into the earthy grass. Her stockings tore and inched down her legs. "No—no, you can't—this is—"

"Bra...ce…" Seth gurgled and rolled onto his side, arms and fists falling limp. His eyes met hers, and without any more sound, he wept. Eirika had never seen him weep. He coughed, blood dribbling down his chin, and shortly after, he was dead.

It had come too fast. There were so many things Eirika wanted to say to him, so many silly things she wanted to talk about, little things she wanted to apologize for. She would have settled for simply hearing him say her name. In her bedtime stories, the dying hero always said goodbyes to his loved ones. Eirika was a few years too old and a league too far away for those stories.

Her hands shaking and her body wracked by sobs, Eirika took the rapier and its scabbard out of Seth's hand, prying his lukewarm fingers off the handle one by one. Her fingers bled; several of her red nails had been ripped off by the force of her fall, and dirt and grass embedded in those that remained. Her palm was thick with her guardian's blood. After she had attached the sword to her belt, she leaned forward and retched. She drew herself up to her knees, hair scattering haphazardly across her face.

Still coughing, she looked at her retainer, turning him over onto his back, touching his cheek, feeling his hair, trying to shake her own out of her eyes. She had a strange feeling, as though someone somewhere was staring at her and laughing behind her back. Her head spun. The world spun. Dizzy, she leaned to the side, staggered, and vomited again. When she had wiped her mouth and wiped her eyes, Eirika took Seth's lifeless left hand in hers and shook her head. It didn't seem real.

She heard a gleeful, raspy voice behind her.

"Well, aren't we in a spot of trouble?"

She refused to turn around. A wyvern cried out and flapped its wings. Nothing could have made her turn her head. She refused to even look towards the distant sun. Eirika clutched Seth's bloody wrist and found it cold and silent. As hard as she squeezed, his wrist remained silent.

"Good night, princess."

Eirika felt a quick, hard strike to the back of her neck and she blacked out.

- O -

_Chapter 1: Fear_

- O -

The next thing Eirika remembered was opening her eyes to the sight of dark gray stone and the scent of decay. She looked around. The room seemed to be a prison cell, dimly lit by two torches hanging a distance away outside, near a stairway. The walls were close together on all sides, and the bars on the door were spaced uncomfortably close together, as if some dwarf contortionist had previously escaped and forced the jailer to make concessions. She could see the ceiling even through the deadening blackness. She feared that if she stood up, her scalp would scrape the stone. The cell was cold, nearly cold enough to see the rime gather on the bars.

Eirika started to sit forward when she felt a sharp tug on her neck and she was yanked backwards. She grasped at her neck, breathing heavily, and felt cold metal—a ring around her throat and a linked chain at the back—under her fingertips. Groaning and trying to writhe away from the rusting collar, Eirika reached out and felt something cold—rusted manacles—tort her wrists backwards and pull her arms back towards the wall. The chains binding her to the stone behind her were just long enough to allow her to check herself for injury and nothing more. She couldn't even touch the bars with the reach she was allowed.

After the shock of her threefold imprisonment wore off, Eirika wiped her face and checked her hands for blood. She massaged her neck absentmindedly, not caring to know if it looked as chafed as it felt. She felt her ears and found her earrings. Only when her hands moved to her breasts and felt skin did she regain her wits. She felt down her torso, down her hips and her legs to the tips of her feet. Eirika took a long, long, labored breath to steady herself. She realized why she felt so numbingly cold: save for her panties, she was completely naked.

_Why was I left only these? My earrings and—why this?_

When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the princess of Renais looked around and knew without knowing that she was no longer in her motherland. She moved her hands and arms around, leaned forward and back with her neck, to see exactly how much movement she had been allowed. She had little room to spare.

Eirika regulated her breathing to quell her panic, but the fear gnawing at her stomach remained, and grew worse with every moment of silence. The princess told herself that it was useless to fear, that fear is man's birthright, one that must be tamed and conquered, so had said her brother Ephraim. Had it been that way with him as well, Eirika wondered, finding the fear of the uncertain most troubling of all?

The waiting was the most difficult part. Eirika waited and hoped that maybe she would see the light of a lantern from across the room and her jailer would show himself, perhaps give her a blanket to stop the cold from creeping up her bare legs. Her captor had left her underwear, at least, and she prayed he would show her more mercy.

The darkness and the quiet allowed her time to think. Eirika sat back against the wall, closed her eyes and tried to piece together the memories with the real.

_Seth. Seth. Where are—you?_

It felt like a dream. A dream, angry and alive, filled with passion and ambition, ambition, ambition rising into the sky. The sky—it was a wyvern, a man with dark, sunken eyes and hair like the bastard of the west wind and a common crow. And the ground, the ground, it had seemingly moved to catch her and strike her as she fell from her guardian's steed.

Yes, her guardian. The lance, the broken tip lodged in his chest. The sight of a heartless smile, the sound of a corpse laughing. It felt like a dream, a sick, sick nightmare, like the ones she had suffered as a young girl that sent her shrieking and sobbing into her father's arms.

As her castle burned, she had ridden onward with her guard and he had spoken to her the last coherent words that left his lips. 'Princess, don't let go.'

_Seth, Seth. Oh goddess, oh goddess…_

It wasn't a dream. He had toppled from his horse, she had screamed, he had directed her to her sword, he had rolled onto his side and died, it wasn't a dream, it wasn't a dream, it wasn't a dream. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, and when she opened them, she was still cold, and she was still there, a prisoner. It was real.

_Seth, your eyes…Seth…_

She had dreamt—though she wasn't certain it was a dream—that she saw Seth's eyes, that she had sat and stared into his eyes, waiting for him to assure her that all would be well as he always did. He was still and quiet and calm. The moment he was about to speak, his eyes began to dance with fire and his mouth gaped open, tongue lolling indolently down his chin. At that moment, she had been afraid of a friend. That had been worst of all; dream or reality, that had been worst of all.

'Princess, don't let go.'

Eirika felt the ground, trying to acquaint her hands with the cold floor as she began acclimating to the sour smell of the dungeon. She licked her bone-dry lips and fell to her hands and knees. Her wrists and neck burned with chill fire. Tears began to well up in the princess' eyes, sliding wordlessly down her cheeks, and the taste of saline joined the bitter taste of vomit on her tongue. The sound of silence had become deafening.

_Seth, I need you, tell me where I am, please. Just tell me where I am, where have they taken me? Seth, answer me, please. Just tell me where I am, please, just this, only once, please…_

Lost in recollection and reconciliation, Eirika couldn't hear the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer.

Still on all fours, Eirika raised her head just slightly and felt something hard and blunt poke her on her cheeks and then her forehead and then between her eyes. She yelped and her heart surged. As if by magic, a fire sprung from the air just outside her cell and Eirika saw a man holding a small oil lantern in one hand and a long, gnarled, blackened staff in the other. The visitor squatted down and prodded roughly at his prey.

"You're awake now?" he said. In the light, Eirika could see that he was the same man from before, his dark eyes and wild smile unchanged. His cackles bit into her.

"Good! The early bird sings loudest. It would be so pitiful for you to sleep the rest of your life away. Did you know you slept for nearly two days?"

Her curiosity at her fate overcame her fear of opening her mouth. "W-what are you going to do to me?" She was surprised how meek and raspy her voice sounded.

Her captor didn't answer immediately. Instead, he beckoned her to approach him, using one crooked finger as one would use to call a dog. She started to move forward and her chains forced her back. Of course, the chains. Her face grew hot with embarrassment as he cackled, and she wished she had something to hide behind.

"Wouldn't it be more fun," he said at last, "if I were to hold you in suspense?"

It wasn't until she saw him staring, sizing her up as he had Seth, that Eirika remembered her immodesty. She turned to the side and crossed her arms over her chest, although she knew it would do little good. He was leering, and there was nowhere to hide, nothing he could not see in the piercing light of his lantern.

"Are you afraid? Are you afraid of me, princess?"

When a few moments passed silently, she wondered if he was waiting for an answer.

"I—I'm not…" She was nearly too scared to say. "Not afraid."

The man shivered and jabbed at her again with his stick, prodding her arms until she dropped them to her sides, and then he poked at her small, icy nipples, one after the other. She whimpered weakly and he groaned, shuddering with pleasure.

"What a sad sight," he said, smiling. He sounded nearly out of breath, almost to the point of pain.

"Well," he said, and stood up. "I should at least let you know where you are. You're in my homeland, the great Empire of Grado. Soon Emperor Vigarde will be the ruler of all Magvel…and until then, we'll slaughter and kill indiscriminately. None can oppose our might!"

"I-I'm in Grado?" Discarding her modesty, Eirika leaned forward and clasped her hands. "Lyon! Where is Prince Lyon?"

"Where are your manners, princess? Shouldn't you first concern yourself with your host before worrying about others?"

"Is this Grado Keep?" Eirika asked, and the jailer laughed.

"Grado Keep? This little dungeon? Hah hah. No, no, this isn't the emperor's castle. In fact, we're quite a distance from there. The emperor ordered me to bring you to him, but…what fun would that be?"

He smirked.

"This is my personal little fortress. _My_ world. I'll bring you to him in due time, don't you worry. He doesn't need to know why there was such a delay in summoning you. Surely he's too busy savoring the subjugation of your second-class homeland to notice."

Eirika gasped. The memories came flooding back all at once. The burning banners, the dead soldiers in teal armor, the rolling heads. She wrestled with the very real possibility that her ancestral home had been burnt to cinders, or at the very least occupied by the gray and purple of Grado.

"Without your father, I daresay you'll need some companionship."

_Father!_

The realizations were beginning to deaden her senses. Her father had been surrounded, the Royal Guard outnumbered by soldiers with superior weaponry. And surely now her father was dead. Eirika quickly resigned herself to this fact. She was three-quarters naked in a dark cell far from home. Hope and optimism were too painful to consider. She couldn't cry. The tears wouldn't come on command.

The jailer poked her again with his staff absentmindedly. She tried not to look at him.

"You know, we've never been properly introduced, have we? You should know the name of your master, princess. I am Valter, the greatest general in service of the Grado Empire! And you are my prey."

_Brother…have you been captured as well? Oh, Ephraim, please be safe. Please, brother!_

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself to me?"

Eirika said nothing.

"Do you want to be free, Princess Eirika of Renais?"

Eirika looked up.

"I don't want to keep you captive here forever. At some point I want you to escape." Valter played with his wrinkled, pallid gray fingers in the light of the lantern, mumbled 'yes, yes indeed' to himself on the side. "After all," he said, "what fun would it be if it were too simple? You're far too frail and weak to give me any sport fighting you. But surely you know how to run? A claw-less kitten like you must know to run fast. After all, how else would you be able to survive in the cold, cold world? Am I right?"

"You like to hear yourself talk," Eirika said, and immediately regretted it. With a disgusted grunt, Valter thrust his stick as hard as he could into her left eye. She shrieked.

"Apparently," he said, trembling with anger, _smiling_, "so do you, _princess_. Oh, devil, devil, devil. You've got some fight in you, bitch. Didn't your dead daddy teach you any manners? You should thank your gracious host for his hospitality."

After a second of silence, he jabbed her in the stomach and she doubled over, her chains clinking. Each of Eirika's pained squirms pleased him further.

"I believe I'm owed thanks, princess. I left you your earrings and your underwear. That's more than a stray cat like you deserves. You're in my debt."

_What can I do? I can barely move an inch. What do I do? Oh, Father…_

"And, to show you just how generous I can be, I'll even follow you all the way to the emperor's keep and give you a proper trial, adjudicated by ten thousand loveless Gradan soldiers. Yes, they'll pass along their judgment, one by one, until everyone has had their piece. Certainly that will be enough to please you, and then you will be doubly in my debt. If it be pleasin' you, of course," Valter added. He bowed.

_Where is Lyon? If I could speak with him, maybe I could find out what's happening. But why? Why is this—why all—_

"Why?" she wondered aloud, struggling even to stay on all fours. Her hand covered her eye.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Valter said. He rammed Eirika in the navel with the stick again, and turned around casually. "I have some business to take care of at the fortress in Renvall. I should be back around nightfall. Then we'll play!"

When he had disappeared up the stairs, Eirika leaned back against the wall. There were so many things to mull over: The death of General Seth, her father's fate, Grado's justification for invading Renais, her brother, the whereabouts of Lyon, and maybe even her own fate. Instead, when she closed her eyes, she slumped over and almost immediately fell asleep.

Prince Ephraim ran swiftly through the forest, his boots pounding a steady heartbeat against the leaf-strewn ground. To his left rode Kyle, and on his right rode Forde, both moving at a steady gallop in-between the trees. Kyle, stalwart and as green-haired as the grove's canopy, watched their flanks, and Forde, his blonde ponytail dirtied in their previous battle, watched their backs.

"Milord, I can't see them anymore," Forde said. "Those soldiers were pretty well-armored, so they'd have trouble moving quickly through the forest."

"Just a bit longer," Ephraim said, weaving around an elder oak, leaping over a gnarled root. "We need to keep going."

Forde nodded. "Right."

The prince and his men ran southwest. A day ago, along with veteran knight Orson, they had successfully stormed and promptly abandoned the stronghold at Renvall in northern Grado. Somewhere on their path, Orson had fallen behind, and with a host of reinforcements pursuing them, they had little choice but to leave him.

_Be safe, General, _Forde had prayed. Orson had recently lost his wife, and by the empty look in his eyes, it was obvious he still hadn't gotten over it.

When they had run far enough, and the mid-day sun had begun its assault, Ephraim waved to a small clearing and the group stopped to rest. Forde and Kyle tethered their horses to nearby trees, and they each sat cross-legged on a small patch of leaves and dirt.

"I've got to get some sleep," Forde said, grinning like a madman. He fell on his back, sighing contentedly. Kyle scoffed, but the prince remained silent, clasping his hands together under his chin.

"This isn't the time to be napping, Forde," Kyle said. "We shouldn't waste more than ten minutes here."

"I know, I know," Forde said, chuckling. He sat up, leaves stuck to his back. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Hang in there, Prince Ephraim."

Despite their decisive and unlikely victory at Renvall, and their escape from a menacing knight on wyvernback, the day prior had been grim. Upon hearing the news that their homeland of Renais had been invaded by Gradan troops, the three remaining men had intended to return, regroup, and flee for the safety of neighboring Frelia if necessary. Then they had heard the rumor. All three knew enough not to believe everything birthed by an unseen person's mouth. This rumor was a bit different.

"Princess Eirika has been kidnapped and taken to the abandoned Castle Genevese."

Forde had hardly believed the words when he spoke them aloud. But the prince and his men had quickly passed through two small villages and the rumor was the same on every tongue. That evening, before they had made camp, a falcon had come to Prince Ephraim with a scroll bearing the emblem of Renais tied to a talon. It read: "General Seth has been slain. Princess Eirika has been abducted by an unknown wyvern knight. It is not safe to return to Renais."

The decision was not difficult to make. As soon as Prince Ephraim had stood and said, "We must look for my sister," his retainers had risen with him, each knowing full well that the rumor might have been a trap, that they might well have been rushing headlong to their deaths. That was a risk they were each willing to take.

The following day had come, and at first light the prince and his men had fled southwest, in time to avoid another wave of pursuers. The entire southwest was touched with the largest forest in Grado, fittingly known as the Great Forest, a place where the trees often grew as wide as a big city's watchtower and stretched to twice the height of Grado Keep. Needing a path onward and a place to elude an armored battalion, they had raced into the forest and marched as far as they could. There they sat, in a small clearing deep within the bowels of the forest, one of the few places in the sea of trees where the sky made itself known to travelers below.

As they sat, each deep in thought, the prince and his men did not as much as speak General Seth's name; it was an unspoken pledge between them, that first things were first, and everything else came after. It had almost been an afterthought, the one line of hurried script informing them of his death. Forde spoke a few kind words in his mind to General Seth and hoped that somewhere out there he was listening.

After brushing the leaves off his back, Forde hopped up. "Well, are you guys ready? Come on, let's get going. We've still a few leagues more to walk, right? Er, whenever you're ready, of course, milord," Forde added, turning to the prince.

Ephraim stood. "Yes. Let's get going. Perhaps by nightfall we'll be in sight of the forest's end."

The two cavaliers untied their horses and mounted to ride. From astride his stallion, Forde called out, "Would you like to ride, Prince Ephraim? We might make better time that way."

The prince shook his head. "No, that is fine. We'll be best served if I remain on foot. If we're all on horseback, we might be tempted to charge ahead, and that certainly wouldn't be prudent in such a dense forest. We will move ahead slowly but steadily."

"It is as you say, milord," Forde said.

From then, they continued without stopping once. The Great Forest was an ominous place, so said the townsfolk of Grado, but a few stories heard in hurried passing did it no justice. The nights were said to be ill omens themselves, but in the afternoon there were obstacles enough: roots crawling from the moist sod like worms with gnarled backs, thorny bushes with purple-green flowers, trees of many sizes hunting in packs, threatening travelers walking in their shadows. In places the trees were so large, their leaves so myriad overhead, that even the sun could shine down only in needle-sized rays, thin columns of light in the artificial evening.

The forest was monstrous. Not only in size, but in mettle. The forest was stout. There were almost no stumps, Forde noticed, nor any deadened trees in their path. The forest floor was covered in wet earth and fallen leaves and pine needles, and the sound of greaves clomping against live earth was satisfying. Overhead, birds of different sizes and different colors sung in different keys. The forest was alive, yes, and as old as Grado itself, since back to the days of lore and legend, when the Demon King of nightmares lived to torment Magvel. Forde had read one of his late father's books on the history of Grado, and he tried to remember what it had told him about the Great Forest.

_Not a haunted wood, but a spirit wood. Let's see, what was it? The nature spirits, wasn't it? Anima mages came here to meditate and commune with the spirits of the earth…_

Forde looked ahead, and when they had passed to the side of an inordinately huge tree, he remembered more.

_Trees as tall as a castle's spires, as sturdy as any wall built of stone and mortar. This place has lasted a long time, so it's no wonder there are so many huge trees around. It doesn't look like anybody has been in the forest this deep for…centuries!_

Forde sighed.

_This would be a really interesting scene to paint…I almost wish I had more time to spend here. Oh well._

They walked for a few hours more until the sun began to set off in the distance. Forde cocked his head to the right to watch as he rode along. The setting sun was a beautiful watercolor of warm tones, pinks and reds and oranges blending together. The canvas was the darkening sky, imperfect with tints of purple and dull gray, a distant menagerie of colors too untamed to touch. Again Forde thought of his paints, and again he sighed, chastising himself for letting his mind wander too far off. When he turned his eyes back to the path, weaving between trees, he saw curtains of evening fall.

_It's getting dark quickly._

"Kyle," Ephraim said at some point.

"Yes, my lord?"

"What do you know about Castle Genevese?"

Forde looked over at Kyle, whose brow was furrowed. "Aside from that it's been abandoned, not much, I'm afraid. Forgive me, I should know more, but—"

"That's all right, Kyle," Ephraim said. "I also know little. I studied history with Lyon in Grado, but admittedly, I don't remember much of what I learned."

"Ah, who wants to hear about the history of Grado anyway?" Forde said, earning him a fear-inspiring reproachful glance from Kyle.

"All I know," continued Ephraim, "is that House Genevese was once one of the strongest and most respected houses in all Grado, and that one of the old Lords Genevese was the closest adviser of one of the old Emperors of Grado as well as the governor of one of the smaller provinces. I don't remember exactly when, but it was some hundred years ago, and since then, House Genevese has fallen into shame. Their lands were seized, their manors taken, and they were left only a small castle as theirs. And now that has been abandoned, and apparently for some time."

"Wow," Forde said, nodding. He maneuvered his horse around a fallen tree branch. "For someone who says he remembered very little of his lessons, you seem quite knowledgeable to me, milord!"

"You needn't flatter me, Forde. That information helps us very little."

"What I want to know is, if the rumor is tr—" Kyle stopped mid-sentence. The rumor _need _be true, or else they were in a lot of trouble. "That is, why would someone take Princess Eirika to an abandoned castle many leagues from Grado Keep? If they meant to seize her, why not put her in a dungeon in the castle city, under the watch of their generals?"

Ephraim sighed vigorously and walked faster onward. The mounted knights rode quickly forward and flanked him.

"I don't know," Ephraim said. The fading sun had almost faded completely, and the curtains of evening were closing. "All I have is a…damnable sense, a…fool brother's intuition." He stopped at a place open enough to camp in.

Kyle and Forde silently dismounted their horses and tethered them. They sat together on the moist earth, each facing inward, watching each other closely. Forde studied the face of his prince. Ephraim had been stoic during their raid of Renvall, quiet and powerful. Now Forde watched him, and for the first time in days, Prince Ephraim seemed human. The shadows under his eyes were long, and his brows and his lip were clenched tightly. The sun had disappeared, the world was boundless dark, and there was no end to the forest in sight. Ephraim spoke two words.

"I fear."

- O -

Eirika dreamt again. Again she had seen Seth's face. Again she had looked into his eyes and waited for his comforting words, waited for him to train his empty eyes on hers and reassure her. Again he was just about to speak. Again he had almost spoken. This time, instead of his eyes lighting with fire, his eyes collapsed and turned to dust, replaced by spiders, spiders, hundreds of them, pouring out of his empty sockets. Then his mouth had spoken without moving.

"Rise and shine…princess."

Eirika woke up, clenching painfully onto a scream, trying not to shout out or vomit. She would not give Valter the satisfaction of seeing her give in. The damp, rancid air of her cell seemed colder than before. Her left eye still ached.

"Good morning, princess; or should I say 'good evening'? Since you've been alone for a while, I figured you might enjoy some company."

Eirika opened her eyes and squinted at the light. Valter was squatting down, holding the lantern in front of his face and his eyes were dancing with flames. He pressed his face against the bars and she leaned forward as far as she could. It was difficult to see; her left eye still ached, her sight a blur of shapeless color and dark. A few seconds later, her good eye could see his face clearly enough.

It wasn't Valter's face.

The face was gray and cast a pale silhouette in the lantern's light. It had no eyes, only empty sockets, caverns that seemed to catch the fire and stoke it. A spider crawled out of the left one. Its mouth hung down unnaturally.

Eirika gasped and froze. Valter groaned lustfully at the sound of her despair.

"Why are you so afraid, princess? It's only a head. It's _only_…a head."

It was a head. It was only a head.

"Don't you recognize your friend?"

Valter held the head in one hand, clutching it by its fire-red hair. It was only a head. Seth's head.

She recoiled in horror and pressed herself as hard as she could against the cell wall. Her mouth acted on its own volition and she screamed. Her whole body shook uncontrollably. The soundless darkness seemed to press against her harder, the smell of decay seemed to magnify. She wanted to run, run, get as far away from the eyes, the terrible, lifeless eyes, but she couldn't get away. Her chains strangled her like lecherous hands as she tried to get away, her collar throttled her and made her choke. Her stomach tumbled and churned and she retched violently. Blue-green hair fell into her eyes, over her face. She choked on stomach acids and sobs. She grabbed the floor and held on as it spun and tried to throw her off, over the edge.

_No no, goddess oh goddess no no goddess no please, it isn't oh goddess oh goddess—_

"Don't let go!" she cried between breathless sobs, thrashing. "Don't let go! Don't let go…"

Valter watched as Eirika writhed, fighting her chains. "Devil…devil it feels…feels…" He breathed heavily, grunting against his hand. "So good to see you squirm."

He spoke, punctuated by ecstatic gasps. "Squirm, squirm, move. Yes. Yes, yes. Be afraid." The man clutched onto his arm and dug his fingernails into his skin. With his free hand he pulled his hair. "When you crawl like that, I feel like I'm on fire. I'm _burning_! Oh, devil. _Devil_, it feels good!"

Valter fell back against the wall, grasping his scalp tighter, groaning, clenching his teeth, mashing his legs together, his voice cutting out. He shuddered and moaned.

Eirika tried not to pay attention. She closed her eyes and tried to disappear. She cried loudly, uncontrollably, but still she could hear the sound of a fist pounding a wall, the sound of labored breaths, the sound of a man with half the pleasure of heaven and half the pain of hell.

She tried not to cry. She tried. Eirika tried to think of her home, about her brother and how they used to play and how he used to touch her cheek and they pretended his wooden knights were proposing to her dollies. That seemed like it was in another world, another time, another life. It was faraway, something unattainable by someone rotting in a dark cell at the bottom of the world. Her dollies were in the castle. Her dollies were probably dead too.

She tried not to cry, Latona could attest to that. For her brother, for her father, for everyone who died, she tried, tried not to cry, not for the sake of her own fear. The brave soldiers who lived and died for her country wouldn't cry for fear. Her brother would not cry for fear.

Eirika cried. Her father and her brother were not the type to chastise her for crying, and Eirika had never been the type to cry over an unappetizing green or a broken toy. When they both were children, Ephraim would come to her and hold her when she wept, but that was in another world. In this world, only the chains and the earth cradled her. She cried for what seemed like eternity.

At some point, she heard Valter speak but couldn't make out what he was saying. Eirika closed her eyes, leaned back, and took a deep breath, then another. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and rubbed her eyes—

"LISTEN TO ME!"

The sudden shout startled Eirika out of her introspection. Her head jerked back and hit the wall with a heavy _thump_. In considerable pain, she watched as the man on the other side of the door crawled towards her, fisting the iron bars standing between them, trying to fit his skull through the narrow spaces. The lantern sat on the floor and cast an eerie light on his scowl. Now with a clear look at his features, Eirika marveled at how dark and sleepless his eyes looked. His hair was wild, glistening with oil. His armor was bloodstained and imposing. His lips had turned gray. Eirika thanked the sun, the moon, and the angels that the prison held her in and him out.

"Maybe you grew up in a beautiful world," Valter said, struggling to catch his breath. He spoke boldly, crisply, a man thoroughly sated. "Maybe you have beautiful bone-white skin and soft hair, yes, but that's all meaningless. You're ugly inside. _Ugly_. When I scrape you down to the bone, you'll see. You're as ugly as I am. We all have dark hearts waiting to break free. We all want to be _punished_. Or don't you know that good conduct is always well chastised, _princess_?" The word sounded like acid.

Eirika sat forward. Her neck burned raw and her wrists throbbed and beat like a heart.

Valter laughed, but it wasn't like before; it was humorless and angry. "Pain and pleasure are one and the same. The hunter, the hunt. The fang, the claw, the bite. To be bitten, to be hurt, to bleed. To run, to hide, to catch, to kill. To _feel_! Pain is the only pleasure."

Silently, Eirika wondered where her brother was. She had a sisterly feeling that he was alive, that he was still in Grado somewhere, traveling with his men. In silence or otherwise, she could wait for him to come. She _would_ wait for him to come. She repeated it like a mantra in her mind.

_I will wait for you, brother. I will wait for you. I will wait._

It was all she could do. In the libraries, she could read and learn the secrets of the world, and in the courtyards of her castle, Ephraim could tutor her in the arts of the sword, but here she could do nothing but wait. A little voice in her head told her "I can't take much more!" and it made her shiver.

"Your eyes and your little green-stained knees mean nothing here," Valter said. "You may roll in the grass like a tramp your spare moments, but in my world you lie still when I command and walk like a man when I command. No one can help you here, princess. _No one_! Here, I am god, I am maker and un-maker. I am your master, I am your hunter. I do not need to break your legs or snap off your fingers; I have the power to break your _soul_. You go against me, little bird, and…"

Valter smiled. He looked happy. Genuinely happy.


	2. Release, pt 1

_Chapter 2: Release, pt. 1  
_

- O -

(warning for language and violence. Because of the great length, I decided to split this chapter, _Release_, into two parts for easier reading. Enjoy the story.)

- O -

(Thanks go out to Gunlord500 for beta reading this chapter.)

- O -

The rotting stench of death permeated everything. The darkness sank deep into her skin and ate her from the inside out. Eirika was in a maze of some sorts, a series of dark, narrow hallways with stone walls and low ceilings painted in sickly shades of green and black. Metal chains covered in rust hung down here and there, and sometimes blood or water dripped down from high above and formed puddles. Torches set in iron on the wall dimly illuminated the small cracks in the stony floors. Mice scurried out from holes buried in the spaces between the floor and the wall: ugly little gray masses with wormy tails, covered in filth. The hallways seemed to extend for leagues, and when one of them ended, two more always stretched out in other directions to take their place. She was running and she didn't know why, only that she had to run, that something was out there down the hall, something waiting for her, something real, something better, something warm and kind and full of life.

It felt real, horribly real. It was only a dream, yes, but then, her entire captivity seemed like a terrible nightmare. Only the prodding of Valter's staff and the feeling of her own fingers pinching and twisting into her flesh had convinced her it was real.

The twisted, dark labyrinth was only a part of her dream, but it may well have been real for all she knew, for all she cared. In her dream, she never stopped running. In her dream, she was completely naked, shivering, her bottom turned to ice. The floor was rough and cold and when she ran barefoot over it her feet hurt and then throbbed. There were little razors hidden in the ground and soon enough she started dragging bloody footprints wherever she ran, and no matter how many corners she turned, she never saw her trail again.

The torches ensconced on the walls turned from red to yellow to orange to blue and then to black, a demonic black flame that smelled of sulfur and sweat and blood and tears and, soon enough, the sour smell of death. When the flames turned red again they flashed familiar faces for her to see. She could see her father, her brother and his sworn men, Prince Innes and Princess Tana of Frelia, Prince Lyon of Grado, and Seth, his red hair blazing obediently in the otherworldly fire. She didn't want him to see her like this, cold and naked and scared, but she wanted to see him. She wanted to hear his voice one last time.

She wanted to stop. Her dreamscape, imaginary and unbelievable, was nevertheless real enough to her. She wanted to stop running, lean against the wall to catch her breath, try to stop her lungs from caving in on themselves. She wanted to rest her feet and nurse them and pull her legs up to her bare chest and cry, but she couldn't. If she stopped running, something would happen. She didn't know quite what, but _something_ was going to happen, and the thought filled her with dread, an otherworldly, indescribable fear that spread through her chest to her legs and her feet and the tips of her toes, and she was never, ever, ever going to stop running.

In her dream, she felt as though she were drowning. She was parched, frightened, dehydrated, her limbs shook, but she felt the unmistakable sensation of breathlessness, helplessness, suffocation. She could feel the water rise up to her stomach to her neck until she was completely under, drowning in an invisible tide that let the flickering flames be. Her arms felt useless and limp beside her. She was angry, angry at herself for not being able to swim, angry for dying, angry even as the water swallowed her eyes alive. She was angry at the man who brought her to this hell, angry at herself for being captured, angry at Seth for leaving her, and angry at the flames and all the sorrowful memories they kindled in her.

Then the hands came. They pulled her down by the ankles and tickled the soles of her feet until she cried and the disembodied fingers, all covered in mold and algae and rotted, putrid, gangrened skin, jabbed at her from all directions and played at her eyes and tried to gouge her and tried to violate her and one of the cold, slimy fingers dug into her left eye until she could almost hear it scream. And then the hands, the thousand insistent hands, clamped down like a vice on her sensitive skin and pulled her hair and dragged her deeper and deeper into the ocean and thrust her head into the sand and held her there as she thrashed and thrashed, clawing desperately for breath.

Eirika woke briefly and dreamt again. The second dream she would remember clearest of all. In her second dream, she fell. She fell and fell without ever landing, surrounded by nothing but impenetrable darkness. Her rapier rattled at her side, her skirt and her hair flew up wildly, but there was no sound, none, just the lonesome sound of silence. At the very end, right before she woke up, she could feel herself smile.

When Eirika awoke, she was alone. Several torches had been put out, leaving only one lit on the far, far wall, casting only a dim light on the cold bars of her cell. The sound of water dripping mercilessly slow was all there was to hear, and the only sensations were that of rough stone, chafed skin, and _cold_. She remained garbed in nothing but her underwear, and the damp dungeon seemed only to have gotten colder since she slept. She blew on her hands to restore feeling, wriggled her toes as best she could, and stretched as far as her chains would allow.

After a few minutes of blinking, Eirika oriented herself and looked around. Several slices of fresh yellow cheese, two pieces of thick brown bread, and a small red apple sat outside her cell, and only then did Eirika realize just how hungry she was. The events of the days prior had destroyed any semblance of appetite, but not having eaten anything since the morning she fled had made her ravenous. Beside the platter, Seth's severed head rested against the outside of her cell, peering in with his empty eyes. Eirika did her best not to look or breathe in deeply and soon enough she forgot he was even there. Soon enough even the scent of his flesh rotting faded away.

Eirika stood up and the top of her head smashed against the ceiling. Smarting, she started to crawl towards the cell door and the chains roughly yanked her back. She fought against them, stretching her arms as far forward as her manacles allowed, leaning as much as she could without her collar strangling her. Nothing. Her fingertips ended no more than a half-inch from the bars of the cell, and nothing she did would be able to bring the tray closer.

"Damn it!" she yelled at last, slamming a fist against the ground. Eirika barely had strength enough to be angry. As soon as her frustration had come it had gone, and in its place was silence. She knew that Valter had put the tray just out of her reach to mock her and there was nothing she could do about it. He wanted to see her struggle fruitlessly and cry about it and wallow in her despair like a little girl. Eirika refused to let him get the better of her. When she closed her eyes and tried to forget everything, her rumbling stomach reminded her of everything she could not have.

_Father…brother…Seth…where are you now? Are you in another world? Is your world brighter than mine?_

Her entire body screamed silently: fire from within, ice from without. Her left eye still ached terribly, her fingers and toes felt fat and numb, and her hunger had made her tremble. When she closed her right eye, the whole world became no more than an impenetrable fog. She sat back against the wall and felt the unforgiving chill of stone against her naked back.

Still, it wasn't the cold or the pain that bothered her most; the worst was the guilty feeling of helplessness that tormented her as she languished in her threefold prison, whilst hundreds of leagues away, her people suffered and died and themselves prayed for a savior. She held her hands up to her face and looked at the dried blood all over her palms, between her fingers, under her nails.

_Their blood…is on my hands…_Eirika wondered exactly what was happening in her homeland. Valter had brought her no specific tidings of the war other than that Renais was utterly doomed and the rest of the world would soon follow. If Grado had indeed taken Renais, the other nations would be quick to react. Prince Innes had undoubtedly taken command of an army, either to help retake Renais or to mount a counteroffensive against Grado. Knowing the Frelian prince as she did, Eirika was completely certain he would soon land on Gradan shores, and if he'd heard tell any rumor of her capture he would follow it.

Innes was smitten with her. Eirika could tell by the way he looked at her and the way he addressed her, how seeing her with her brother made his lips twist up as though he'd sucked on a lemon. She could not be sure, but she believed it started when they were all children playing together in the courtyards—Eirika and Ephraim, Innes and Tana—and a part of Eirika had wished that Innes would grow out of his fancy as he did his clothes. But they had grown into adulthood, and his want for her had not been put away with the rest of his childish things. In fact, the years changed naught but their appearance: only how full and womanly her figure was becoming, only how strongly his desire burned in his silent eyes. She did not dislike Prince Innes, but she did not love him.

_Innes, please. Don't be a fool. You cannot hope to save Renais or destroy Grado with several hundred men. Don't come here. Please…_

Still, she almost hoped he would indeed appear from the stair across the hall and stride through the darkness in a swath of light to free her. She was steadily losing hope that Ephraim would pull himself away from the battlefield and find her, and she did not even know if Prince Lyon was alive, let alone if he knew of her plight. She knew that if Lyon were alive and well, he would never have given his blessing to any act of war, let alone an offensive against Renais. Eirika reminisced on how she and her brother would spend time with the Gradan prince camped out in the meadows, studying their history lessons and theology, telling stories and enjoying a fleeting bit of fraternity. Eirika would have given anything to feel the wind in her hair and the green grass between her toes again if only for the span of a breath.

_I will be strong. I won't give up. I _won't_ give up. Not ever. There is no use giving in to despair._

Eirika sat back and endured the coldness of the wall until she accustomed to it. She breathed in deeply to steady her nerves, folding her hands over her stomach. She remembered songs her mother and father used to sing to her when she was a child, and sang in her head to soothe herself.

_Father, you told me once that a time will come when we must all swallow our sorrows. _she thought. _I will do as you said, father. I will remember._

Eirika rested, and she didn't know for how long, but she heard footsteps sooner than she expected and opened her eyes to see Valter, a lit torch in one hand, his staff in the other.

"How is my little kitten today?" he asked. "Oh, I seemed to have forgotten my meal by your cell."

Valter pushed the tray of food further away and replaced it with another.

"Kittens need their strength," he said. He fumbled at his belt for his keys, found one, and unlocked Eirika's cell. He pushed the new tray towards her with his foot and locked the door. He held his torch out in front of his face and stood still. Eirika closed her eyes and felt as he watched her survey her meal, consisting only of black bread and shriveled, dried beef with a cup of green water.

"Silly girl, did you think that was a prisoner's ration?" her jailer said, motioning to the small tray of fresh food. He laughed scornfully, licking his lips. "Little fool, that's my day's meal! Be thankful I'm giving you anything at all."

Eirika gingerly sipped from the cup of water, choking and coughing when she tasted the salt. Valter laughed loudly and watched her bite into her jerky, eventually tearing a piece off with her teeth, somehow chewing it up and swallowing it down.

Eirika looked up at him and, having nothing else to say, said meekly, "Thank you."

He looked at her as though she had said something completely incomprehensible. "Don't thank me," he said at last, waving his torch around in the air. "You've nothing to thank me for. You should be cursing my name! You fear me! You loathe me! You mock me, little girl. What have you to thank me for? Nothing!"

"You—you spared my life," Eirika said, thinking while she spoke. "And you left me these," she added, touching her underwear, "and these," she said, touching her red earrings. Eirika felt secretly hopeful as she touched them, as though maybe his leaving her those small things might be a sign of mercies to come.

"You don't know. You truly don't understand, do you?" Valter said. "Ha! You don't know…why I don't sit and watch you…watch your naked little body…watch you sleep. You don't know why. You have no idea." Valter shook his head.

_He truly likes to hear himself talk. Will he say anything more?_

"You can keep your damnable panties," Valter spat. "I don't care a whit for your highborn cunt. I don't care to _ogle_ you. Don't you think that if I took any pleasure at all from stealing your maidenhead I would have done so already? When I was a young man, the mere _scent_ of a woman would make my prick shudder. But now…oh, devil, that feels like another life. Now I can only chase, and hope against hoping that I can get my thrills from that. My little soldier doesn't want to go to war all the time anymore. Ever since that one day, long, long ago…ah, back then, aye, it was…long ago, yes. The last time I ever had a woman…

"Now, apart from the whelps I'm sent to hunt and kill and the prisoners I find to humiliate, I have nothing to give me release. Even slaughtering peasantfolk gives me no pleasure, not any longer. I don't _want_ you. I can't _have_ you, little bird. Do you know what I'm talking about, sweet little girl?"

_I have to keep him talking. Maybe he'll let slip something about Brother or the rest._

"Why is that?" Eirika asked, leaning forward. Her left eye, swollen and smarting, misted over.

"'Why is that?'" Valter parroted. "What sort of question is that?" His voice had lost its taunting edge. Now it was only bitter. "A woman could never understand. Are you listening? NEVER!" he yelled, and Eirika flinched.

Valter paced around in tight small circles, mumbling something unintelligible to the floor. He swung his arms loosely at his side; the torchlight cast flickering glimmers off his tarnished greaves, almost in time with the sound of his preoccupied footsteps. "You could never. How humiliating it is…for a man…stunted! Invalid! Never. _Never_ understand. Why do I even bother with you?

"Well, it doesn't matter!" he yelped suddenly, and Eirika started. "That's the price of power! The power to kill and control, the power of the dark wroth; these are the sacrifices I must make, I, yes I, Grado's greatest martyr. I told you, _I_ am the greatest general in Grado, and one day I _will_ rule over _everything_. I am the hunter! As long as I have the strength to kill anyone who gets _close to me_, who cares how I get off? Certainly not you, panting bitch. Once this world is mine, I could have half the realm tromping around naked on stage, gnawing each other to death like wolves for my amusement. All I need do…is _wait_."

"But why has Gr—have _you_ invaded Renais? What could you hope to—"

"That's none of your concern," Valter said. He squatted in front of the bars and smiled. His teeth were stained with blood. "Don't concern yourself with an empire's business, dear little lordling. Birds without talons best keep quiet. No one likes a gossiping parrot or a cock that crows at dusk."

"But—is it money? Power?"

"Are you deaf?" he snarled. "The walls have ears enough to know our intent, _princess_. Maybe ask them. No, soon it won't matter to you anyway. I'll break you and then I'll find your dear brother Ephraim and break him the same."

_Ephraim! Brother! Does that mean they haven't captured you? You're alive?_

"Why are you smiling?" Valter growled, jabbing her repeatedly in the forehead and the cheeks with his gnarled stick. She moved back a few inches, smarting. "Even powerful men are brittle if you know where they are frailest. Your dear brother will give me that challenge I desire…and the hopes of your homeland will die with him on the end of my spear."

_I will wait for you, brother. I believe in you._

Valter glared at her, his lips twisting in a furious smile full of need. Eirika shivered, but she refused to cry or back away; she would not give him the gratification of seeing her ashamed.

"I—" She tried to think of a question. "Why do you keep me here?" Eirika asked. "Why don't you bring me to Grado Keep?"

"You are _my_ plaything, mine alone. You are my property, and I don't intend to surrender you so easily. Only I will see you run. Only I will see you beg and obey."

_And if I don't? _thought Eirika.

"What do you mean?" said she.

Valter jabbed her in the temples again with his gnarled staff and her head throbbed, but she clenched her teeth and fought back the pain. She made certain her eyes never left his, even the one so swollen and misted it was nearly blind; not for a moment would she let him know how frightened of him she was.

"What do you mean?" she repeated, more firmly.

"Bloody hells! Is everyone from Renais so contemptibly stupid?" he snarled. "I told you, it doesn't matter."

"Why? What do you plan to do with me?"

"I told you. You're _my_ little pet. My scurrying little prey. I don't care to lose my property."

"But why? Why would you do something like this? How could you be so cruel?"

For a few seconds, Valter stared at her so hatefully that she almost shook. Then he smiled.

"So, little girl. Do you really want to know why I am the way I am? Is this what this is all about?"

_I have to learn everything I can…_

"Yes!" Eirika insisted. She sat forward and reached her arms out towards the cell bars. "I just want to understand…_why_…"

"Hm. That's funny. Well, I suppose I could tell you my story if you insist on hearing it. It happened several years ago…"

Eirika sat back and Valter sighed deeply, closing his eyes, looking up at the dark, stony sky.

"…I picked up a lance."

Silence.

"A-And?" Eirika said. Valter poked her lightly between the eyes.

"And that's it. That's all," Valter said, shrugging. He sneered at her, tapping his staff against the floor. "An evil _bloody_ lance. A fine-looking piece it was, but it was cursed or something. What? Were you expecting some terrible, tragic story? About how my family's wagon was attacked by bandits on the border of Renais and I was forced to watch as they brutally raped my mother? And how my father ran away to save his own skin? Ha ha ha, no. No, my life is not nearly as _blighted_—or as interesting.

"No, I'm just a bad, bad man. That's the truth of it. I was given the power of the darkness as my own. The strength of a giant, the cunning of a god. And all I sacrificed was my…_arousal_. Just that…only that. The dark magic in that spear, it warped me. Twisted my body beyond recognition. Made me stronger. Harder."

Valter laughed crudely. "Not _hard_ enough. Not bloody hard enough. It turned my little soldier into a deserter." He sighed and shuddered. "Back then…I wasn't strong enough to make them pay for making a fool of me. All of them. My mistake was chaining myself down with a knight's honors. When I'm done, the whole world will be _my_ fool. And oh how I'll laugh at all of them. Including you, princess. You could never understand what truly makes the measure of a man! You pretend to understand, but you don't understand at all. Don't understand at all…" His voice trailed off.

Eirika watched Valter's face and was surprised to see that he was not smiling or even looking at her. His eyes were turned to the blank wall on his right, still absent-mindedly tapping his stick on the ground. He clenched his jaw and sat forward on his knees. The gentle _clack clack clack_ing of the staff was the only sound in the dungeon.

When Valter spoke again, it was little more than a hush. "They will find out…once, I was feared and respected. For someone like me…who was left for nothing…abandoned long ago…long, long ago…ha ha. This power. This is and has always been my _birthright_. The birthright that not even my father would assure me of. To come this far…ha ha ha. The global presence. Nobles. The seventh estate. The outside layer. Leagues away they doubt me, they sneer at me, they're trying to hurt me, they plot against me. No, soon…yes, soon. Soon. They will _more_ than fear me. Soon…soon…ha…ha ha…"

For some reason she could not explain, Eirika felt pity for the man who kept her captive. Sitting on his knees, he seemed so small; even with his armor, he seemed defenseless in a way that Eirika had never seen before in a man carrying a weapon. Eirika's stomach turned and flopped. She almost expected to see tears streaming from his eyes, big red tears of blood blotting his pallid cheeks and chin. A part of her wanted to reach out and touch him on the shoulder or maybe say a word of apology, but her arms could not reach far enough, and her words would not come.

Without warning, Valter threw his torch against the damp ground and stamped it out, cursing loudly and at no one in particular, His face became a dim outline. First the sound of wood splintering and snapping apart, caught between steel boots and stone floor. Then the sound of gnashing teeth gnawing at his gloves, frothing and wet like the growls of a mad dog caught in a snare. Then only the sound of breath. His breaths came heavy and steady, _ha huhhh ha huhhh ha huhhh_, painfully deafening in the quiet. _Ha huhhh ha huhhh ha huhhh_…

_Oh, Goddess, _Eirika thought, tears welling in her eyes, _why do I feel like crying? Why this? Why for _him_? Why now…_

Valter grabbed the bars of Eirika's cell and pulled them so hard that she was afraid they would bend and break beneath his black gloved fingers. Valter smashed his face as close as he could to her, slavering from between his ruddy teeth as his eyes popped out from between the spaces in the bars. "_You_ feel sorry for _me_? You feel _sorry_ for me, don't you, you little bitch? Don't! Don't youuu! Don't you feel sorry for me!" he screamed, almost sibilantly. "Don't you feel s-s-sorry for me! I am the one who should feel sorry…for _you_! Look at you! I pity you. I _pity_ you! Helpless, hungry, cold, and scared. Like a little mouse. A little broken birdling. I'm your master. You are my _slave_._ I_ feel sorry for _you_! You never had a life! Never once! Nothing! Had nothing!"

_What can I do? _Eirika thought. She tried to drown Valter's ramblings out with the sound of lullabies and songs from her childhood, but to no avail. Her stomach whined._ I need to eat, I need warmth, I need to get out of here…_

"Didn't I tell you? Pain is the only pleasure." Valter rammed his head against the bars, once, twice, thrice, again and again and watched as Eirika backed up against the wall as far as she could. Each of his headbutts made the rusting iron rattle and clank. _Slam_. Each time the sound of his forehead slamming viciously into the cell grew louder. His dark hair scattered and bounced about.

"Pain!" Valter shouted. His every breath was punctuated by the sounds of his self-destruction. _Slam_. "Is the only…" _Slam_. "Pleasure. And maybe…" _Slam_. "The next time…" _Slam_. "I come in there…" **SLAM**. "I can give you pleasure. I can make you _hurt_."

**SLAM**.

The walls themselves shuddered.

"I can set you _free_."

- O -

Forde had been unable to sleep the first night he had made camp in the forest with Kyle and the prince. It was not that the ground was uncomfortable; the soft, slightly damp bed of peat was more than anyone traveling through a wood could ask for. It was because Forde was concerned, not only for the wellbeing of the young princess, but also of her brother the prince's welfare. As he often did on nights when his thoughts eluded him and ran roughshod through his mind, Forde lay awake, breathing in deeply, and looked up passively at the night sky.

It was because Forde could not sleep that he heard Prince Ephraim wake up with a start.

"Milord?" Forde said quietly, as fellow cavalier Kyle slept and snored lightly on the other side of the campfire. The flames had long since burned and churned themselves to ashes, bequeathing to the pile nothing but small orange specks of heat in a sea of cinder. It was the black of night—mid-night, by Forde's reckoning.

"Aye?" Ephraim said unsteadily, looking around through the pitch-dark ocean of trees. He wiped his brow with his hand, still apparently trying to reorient himself.

"Are you well?" Forde said. He sat up and leaned forward. "You woke with quite a start."

"Ah…y-yes…I did, didn't I?" Ephraim coughed. "Did I wake you? Forgive me."

"No, I was already awake. Were you having some sort of nightmare?"

Ephraim turned away, cradling his chin in his hand.

"Sorry, milord—I didn't mean to pry. Excuse me."

"No, it was within your rights." Ephraim turned to Forde and stared intently. "Forde, you and Kyle have known me for a long time, haven't you?"

"That we have, milord. From…I suppose the day I became a knight proper, I was sworn to your guard."

_That seems like…ages ago. Since the prince—well, and me, for that matter, were just lads._

Ephraim cleared his throat. "Well, in that case, I hope you don't mind if I confide in you something."

"I'm all ears, Prince Ephraim."

"I still don't understand it. Why would Grado invade Renais all of a sudden? We've had an unheralded era of peace in Magvel. The times of the Southlanders fighting and dying for control of Grado is over. There are less brigands running about now than at any time in our world's history. We've never had a true war between our nations before. So why? Why now? Why would Emperor Vigarde do this? And Lyon—he would never approve of starting a war. A senseless war like this...

"And…why Eirika? The last I heard she was at the castle…what do they want with her? Who would have abducted her? They've already taken the castle, murdered my father, and laid waste to the countryside. Who would they plan to ransom her to, and why? I cannot think of anything. They have no political reason to want her captured. No reasons at all besides...what any man might want a woman for."

For several moments, they sat in silence, with only the faraway chirps of insects sounding around them. Ephraim looked despondently at the ground with his hand curled into a tight fist, and Forde looked up at the sky through the canopy, up at the silver-white moon shining unusually brightly.

"I had a terrible nightmare," Ephraim said at last. "It was a dark hallway. I could hear my sister's voice calling out to me, crying my name, screaming in pain. I made to run to her, but the more I ran, the louder her screams became. I ran but I never got anywhere. I could feel her warmth but she was nowhere in sight. I fell to my knees, and when I looked down, I…saw _through_ the floor…it was the queerest thing. Beneath the floor, under the earth, my sister was there, laying there silently. And she was…"

Ephraim swallowed hard and rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off his tunic and his cloak. "I don't think I can sleep like this. I'm going for a walk. When day breaks, I'll return. Be ready to leave by then."

"Ah, wait ho!" Forde said, scrambling to his feet as fast as he could without waking Kyle, who still snored obliviously several feet yon. "It might not be prudent to wander about alone. Perhaps I should accompan—"

"No. I need a moment alone. I'll take my spear with me. Stay here at the campsite."

Before Forde could object any further, the prince disappeared into the shadows. Forde lay back and looked up at the sky again, tracing circles in the soil with his fingers.

As hard as Forde tried, he had been unable to find anything positive in the wake of Grado's invasion of their homeland, nothing to give his traveling companions any optimism. Most of the journey he had decided to shut his mouth and leave well enough alone. For all the prince's impulsiveness, Forde saw much of himself in Ephraim. Worry had been wearing on his mind as it surely had on the prince's, and, though he refrained from mentioning his fears aloud, Forde had a bad feeling about the fate of young Princess Eirika.

_Little good it would do to make the worst of an already bad situation._

Prince Ephraim and his sister were remarkably close, even for siblings. As one often assigned as the prince's personal guard, along with Kyle, Forde saw firsthand how inseparable they were. They were seldom more than a few yards apart from one another, whether playing knights-and-dollies in their bedchambers or traveling in caravans south to Grado or west to Frelia to fraternize with the other young royals. Until they both had reached the age of thirteen, the prince and his sister dined, slept, and even bathed together. They were the perfect complement to each other: he was her strength and her moral support, and she was his conscience.

Forde didn't know Eirika as a person nearly as well as he did her brother; when away from her sibling, she was often in the company of her handmaidens, and until recent years, the young princess was too timid to spare him any words beside a polite hello and how-do-you-do. What he knew, however, was that she was a kind, affectionate, and generous person, and that whenever the siblings were together, they were happy. As close as he and Franz were, Forde was well aware how different they were, and as a result, they usually went their own ways the majority of the time.

_I don't know what I'd do if something happened to Franz…I can't imagine what Prince Ephraim must be feeling right now._

Forde closed his eyes beside the dead embers of the campfire and slowly slipped away into sleep. He awoke at first light to find that Ephraim had returned safely, and, along with Kyle, they each continued south through the trees.

Although atypically large, the Great Forest of Grado managed to have an interesting new sight at every turn. Sometimes a clearing would open up in a swarm of stumps and crumpled leaves. Forde occasionally noticed a bush of blackberries or redberries or even a bush of sour greenberries nestled in a briar thicket. They passed trees with giant gnarled trunks, some of which had strange runes and markings cut into their sides. They bounded over small sylvan streams that snaked through the undergrowth, up and down small inclines where the land dipped and rose again. After a point the terrain leveled and made for simpler traveling, and though the wood was thickly packed, the way was easily navigable, even on horseback.

They had walked onward for about two hours when Ephraim spoke again.

"What is Emperor Vigarde doing?" he said, to the ground more than anyone else. "Has he truly gone mad? What purpose could he have invading our country? Damn it, Lyon, what's happening?"

Forde and Kyle exchanged glances and sheepish shrugs.

After a few moments of decidedly awkward silence, Ephraim turned his head up, and quickened his stride, passing by the two cavaliers, who were still easing their horses along at a trot. "We've no other choice, then. If it falls to us to uncover the secrets behind this madness, then we will. Forde, Kyle. I've no intent on waiting for the army of Grado to raze Renais entirely. We _must_ move. Every second we waste is one Grado spends empowered. We will find Eirika and then we will find out _exactly_ what is happening in the capital. By ourselves, if we must—if you'll see it through with me. One way or another, come flood, fire, or famine, I'll have my answers."

"Now that's the prince I know! We'll stand with you," Forde said, smiling, and Kyle nodded in agreement. The prince broke into a near-dash, weaving between the trees as his knights followed close behind. It was already evenfall, and the sun had nearly disappeared behind the pink and orange horizon when they finally reached the outer limits of the forest and the trees gave way to an expanse of green and golden plains. On the eastern horizon, Forde's eyes caught a glimpse of smoke from a distant fire; elsewhere, the land began to dip in preparation of disappearing into bogs or marshes in the lowlands for which Grado was well known.

Forde had turned his attention south, to the distant blue-red skyline and the dim promise of distant sea, when Kyle cried "Milord, in the distance!" and pointed southwest with a gauntleted hand, restraining his horse with the other.

Far off in the distance, framed by what remained of the sun's light, the outline of a stone structure loomed large atop a hill, right at the edge of the Great Forest as its border ran west for leagues and leagues.

Ephraim turned to his knights and nodded. "Let's go."


	3. Release, pt 2

_Chapter 3: Release, pt. 2_

- O -

(Again, thanks to Gunlord500 for beta reading!)

- O -

Eirika didn't know when she fell asleep, but at some point she did, and her rest was mercifully dreamless. When she awoke, she found herself alone in the entirely soundless dungeon, and she sat up, stretching her neck. When she tried to rise to her knees she felt a dull ache course through her body, from her legs, which had been folded beneath her for what seemed like eternity, to her arms, cold and numb. Only her forehead and her cheeks felt the slightest bit of warmth. The world remained dark around her, dark and unknowable, and the one torch flickering on the far wall was no badge of hope but merely a warning of something—something else.

The more Princess Eirika looked down and looked up again, the further away the torchlight seemed to creep, until it seemed little more than the light of a single star, captured from the sky and held in bondage by its sconce.

The more she looked to the sides, the more she slunk back against the wall where her bindings were anchored, the more she peered at the iron bars of her cell, the more they all seemed to close in on her, until they seemed to want to suffocate her, to smash themselves against her with stony hands and metal foreheads: _Slam, Slam, clink, clank._

Eirika wanted to dream. The harder she tried to will herself into dreams, pleasant dreams, the more sleep of any sort eluded her. She squirmed up against the wall, tried lying down, tried any position she could to fall into respite, and sleep would not come. She wanted to dream of happy things, silly things she indulged herself in: The scent of the green grass and the sound the wind makes when riding through the countryside; a morning tea with Tana in the Frelian court while their brothers fought to unhorse one another; an afternoon spent warm, bathing, closing her eyes and knowing that she was safe; a night spent in the tallest tower of Castle Renais, watching the stars with her arm around her brother. No matter how hard she tried to drown out the memories of the prior days, they kept returning to her in waves of sight and sound: Her father beseeching Seth to keep his daughter safe, Seth crying out in pain as he fell from his horse, and her jailer's sallow eyes peering, staring so deeply into hers that her soul itself felt violated.

Somewhere within the dungeon, the sound of water dripping slowly seemed to grow louder, an insufferable intermittent _drip-drip_ of droplets against the slimy stone ground. Eirika began to count the seconds between each patter, obsessively, as if she had to count every one, as though some compulsion had come over her to do so. The drops seemed to be getting louder, seemed to be coming closer with every tantalizing _drip_, hypnotic, eerily lulling.

_Footsteps, _Eirika thought. Even the suggestion of someone coming, someone descending into her little world made her shiver. _He's coming for me, _she thought, not knowing if they were the brave footfalls of her brother come to rescue her or the plods of her jailer come to finish what he began. But no one appeared at the stairwell by the far wall, framed by the orange torchlight, and every second she spent alone was another second spent wondering, the mind wandering, fearing, doubting, weak and weary, if anyone would ever come for her again. She couldn't say how long she had been chained in the dungeon, as she had long since lost track, but at the very least it _seemed_ an eternity.

Eirika closed her eyes and when she opened them again he was there, only a shadow, a charcoal-black silhouette in the dungeon, peering at her.

"W-What do you want from me?" Eirika stammered. The chains clutched and grabbed at her hands. She waited and waited for an answer, but the shadow stood silently, with eyes so red that Eirika would have sworn they were the burning irises of the mythical Demon King himself, the great devil of society, come to stick his red-hot claws through her heart and end her misery there and then.

"Answer me!" she insisted, when the shadow did not reply.

"Why me? Why must I suffer through this?" the shadow said suddenly. Eirika flinched; the shadow did not move nor reach out, nor did it even seem to have a mouth to speak, and yet it did, in _her_ voice. It sounded so odd coming from outside herself, but there was no mistaking that it was her voice, her words, her intonation: her manner of speaking.

"Why am I resigned to this fate?" said the shadow. "What did I do to be treated so cruelly by life? What grave sins have I committed to deserve such a punishment?"

"Who are you?" Eirika said, fighting against her chains.

"Even when I am not shackled—" and here the shadow raised its formless palms into the air as if exasperated –"I am a prisoner. A prisoner wrapped in chains of words and deeds. I was never free. I was enslaved from the day of my birth. I am always fighting against my chains."

"Please…tell me. I must know," said Eirika, trying to restrain her tears. "Is it my fate to die here?"

"Brother, brother of mine," the shadow said, itself nearly in tears. "When will you come? When will you show me my freedom? When will you show me what I am meant to be? When will you show me a life behind all the masks I am made to wear?"

"M-Masks? I don't understand," Eirika said. "I don't understand."

The shadow hung its head. "I don't understand," it whispered. "I don't understand. Don't understand. Don't understand…stand…stand…"

_Footsteps! _Eirika thought, panicked. The footsteps seemed to draw closer, coming from everywhere, surrounding her, coming to knock at her door, coming to take her away.

"This is what I fear most," said the shadow sorrowfully. "Being taken away."

"Taken away? What do you mean taken away? Taken away from where? Where are they taking me? Please, tell me! You must—you _must_ tell me! I beg of you, _please_…"

But the shadow would not answer her. Eirika shook her head so hard her hair fell haphazardly around her face and scattered over her eyes. When next she looked, the shadow standing before her was gone and the only sound was that of water _drip, drip, drip_ping.

_Footsteps…Brother…will you ever come? I think I'm going mad…_

The next footsteps Eirika heard were not her brother's, nor those of her shadow, but instead those of her jailer come to check on her. Valter staggered over to her, carrying a lit torch slathered in pitch, thick with the scent of brimstone and lingering ash.

"_Princesssss_," said the jailer sibilantly, mockingly, hissing and laughing alternately, traipsing over to her small cell half-gaily, as a sodden girl in a meadow might sashay, weaving back and forth and almost scraping against the walls or the bars of empty cells beside him. When he came to her cell, Valter pressed himself up against the door, metal clanking with metal as his bloodstained breastplate banged against the iron bars.

"Hello, kitten. Hello, birdling. Have you a nice sleep? Have you a nice sleep? Are you well? Have you eaten well?" He held the torch near his face so that she could see him smile toothily.

_Smile and pretend. Smile and pretend. Just like I did in the courts back home. Just put on an act, a display of courtesy. Just agree with him, don't incense him any further._

"I-I am well," Eirika said, her voice weak. Her face felt as though it were burning, her nostrils red-hot and irritated. The swelling in her left eye had become so bad that she was nearly blind, so she closed it and stared at him only with her right. She refused to look away from him.

"You lie. Dirty liar. Women are _liars_." Valter punched the bars with his free fist. "Like little birds who sing songs of deception, songs to find a mate. You _lie_. Just like my country lied, just like the rest of the world lied to me. Well, no more."

Valter whirled around. "NO MORE!" yelled he to the darkness. The torch on the far wall flickered defiantly. Valter turned back and fished around for something in his pocket.

"Let us play a game, princess. Let us entertain ourselves. Let us see how well we can dance together, mm? Let's see how loud we can _scream_ together!"

To Eirika's surprise and horror, Valter produced a key and unlocked the door to her cell. Then he went to her, knelt in front of her, and touched her chin with his gloved hand.

_No, Goddess…please, no._

"Shh, shh, Princess. Relax and I'll set you _free_," Valter said as Eirika whimpered. He laughed at her and one by one unlocked her shackles, first her collar, then her leg-irons, then her manacles, until she was free for just a moment. Then he grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet, pulling her roughly from her cell into the hall, wherein he pressed her up against the wall and began leering at her chest with dead eyes.

"I want to see how far you can go," he breathed into her ear. Sour—his breath was sour, the scent of sulfur mixed with the sorrowful stench of fetid wine. He clutched Eirika's left arm and grabbed at her hand. "I want to see how far you can be stretched before you _break_. Before your pretty little face gets peeled off and we get to see the rotted skull underneath. You're ugly, too. Don't think you're any better than me."

Eirika tried to escape his clutches, but his grip was too tight, his gloves dug too deep into her tender pink flesh to allow her to slip away. Her arm was starting to twist the wrong way, and the more she tried to worm away, the more she began to tort. Valter laughed like a madman, dry and rasping. He took one of her hard nipples between his fingers and pinched until she whimpered and gasped for breath, screaming helplessly to gods or goddesses that wouldn't help her.

"How much do you want to hurt, princess?" His voice itself was convulsing. "Do you want to hurt as much as I do?"

Valter reached for his belt and suddenly shoved her rapier into her hand.

_T-This is…_

Valter loosened his grip enough for her to finally escape his grasp. Eirika stood with the sword in her hands, watching the torchlight flicker off its unsettlingly lustrous blade. For a moment she was so overwhelmed by what had happened that she could only stare stupidly at the weapon and gape.

_I—I know how to fence; brother taught me that much. And to fight… _Eirika turned to Valter, who watched her with tongue lolling out. _But I would never be able to kill him, not the way I am now…_

"Go ahead. Do it. _Hurt me_," Valter rasped, smiling. Without his breastplate, he looked thin and insubstantial, a graying husk of a man. He unhooked his breastplate and hauled it over his head; pulled his torn, sweat-stained tunic off and threw it away. When he was done, Eirika saw, to her horror, his bare chest. Nearly every inch of the jailer's skin was covered in knife gouges, some barely tracing the surface, some deep and darkly scarred, lines crossing his jagged muscle like bends and bends sinister. His flesh was sickeningly pale and turned to black-gray char in places; his sharp ribs nearly protruded past his emaciated stomach from gods knew how long a time spent hungry.

"I can take it," Valter murmured. "I can take more punishment than any human being alive. Do it. Do it to me. Now!"

Valter removed his gloves and tossed them aside emphatically. Eirika cringed in disgust at the sight of his bare hands: shriveled and gangrening, yellowed fungus buried deep under his long green-gray hooked fingernails. She gasped and covered her mouth; Valter laughed, breathless with excitement.

"Free me!" he screamed, smiling. He clutched her hand and forced it to thrust the rapier into his abdomen.

"More! More than that!" he yelled as the sword pierced through. "I need more. I need _release_! Hurt me, damn it, _hurt me_!"

Valter shoved the princess violently backwards and she fell on her backside. Her sword still stuck an inch deep in Valter's flesh, unwavering, as though it had been thrust into a stone.

"_Stab me!_" he rasped, unsheathing a knife from his belt and throwing it at Eirika's feet. "Stab me _again_ or I'll kill you, I swear to the bloody Devil, I'll murder you!"

Eirika hesitated and Valter yelled at her again, screaming obscenities, frothing at the mouth, his chest heaving, shoulders moving in rhythm. Blood trickled down his side. The princess took the knife and when she hesitated again, Valter grabbed her wrist, digging his nails into her soft skin, and forced her to drive the knife into his chest. She turned her head away and fell to her knees as he groaned gutturally.

"Can't you understand?" he screamed, almost in tears. "I _cannot die_! No matter how much you hurt me, I will never, ever fall!"

Valter grabbed the hilt of the knife in his chest and gave it a violent twist. He doubled over, moaning and wanting for breath. "Want more! You—stupid…stupid you…you can't take this, can you? Doesn't it…_mortify_ you? Don't you _hate_…seeing me bleed? Doesn't it hurt you inside? _You're too soft_!" he snarled, hauling Eirika to her feet. He pulled the twisted knife from his abdomen and threw it aside. "You should…get used to it, little mouse. Whether you're the prey or…the predator, the hunter or the hunted…ahh, you'd best accustom yourself to suff—suffering. It's _everywhere_!"

_Oh, please, merciful Goddess, make this nightmare end. Save me from this torment. Deliver me from this evil…_

"So. So, princess. So, _princess_! Are you afraid of the dark, princess?"

Valter wrapped his free hand around Eirika's left ring finger. Eirika closed her eyes and waited, but nothing happened. At last she opened her eyes and he was inches away from her face, breathing sulfur at her, smiling with jagged, coal-black teeth.

"Are you afraid of what you cannot see? Or do you close your eyes and take comfort in it? Hm? HMM? Answer me!" Valter shook the princess vigorously.

"What do you fear most, princess?" he snarled. "The darkness…or me? I assure you, the darkness can't do…_this_!"

Valter bent Eirika's ring finger backwards as hard as he could until she heard something _snap_.

Eirika screamed.

The pain brutalized her. It felt like a hammer had smashed her finger to bits. Her heart exploded and beat out of control. For a few dim, unclear seconds, Eirika of Renais thought she was going to die. When she realized she yet lived, she wanted to die. Time passed in ribbons. Her vision cut in and out, hiding then reappearing, hiding then reappearing. She was on the floor, writhing, sobbing without end, and somehow she was also in a barracks, surrounded by ten thousand faceless men passing her around like a pipe, groping her, violating her. All the while a tall shadow watched, expressionless, emoting only with silent tears, black like water-paint, dripping down her face, into her mind, into her heart. It was ten million nightmares at once.

The pain. The cold, cold pain. Her body itself meant to suffocate her; Eirika could barely breathe. It was pain unimaginable, pain _everywhere_; it was pain enough to paralyze her, pain surging through her finger down through her muscle and sinew and veins to her legs and her arms and her head. She doubled over, kicking and thrashing, trying to _shake_ away the pain, as if she truly could. Somewhere, somewhere cold and near and yet so terribly far, far away, Valter laughed and moaned and got his pleasure by himself, standing and watching her suffer.

The floor teetered and rocked. At last she fell, tumbling side-over-side like a barrel, limply plummeting downward, falling into darkness, the endless merciful darkness, and for a moment, there was nothing.

Then there were words. _Her_ words. Quiet words, hopeful words, sweet words. Only words.

_I will wait for you._

_Wait for you._

_Wait._

Two rough hands grabbed her by the neck and heaved her to her feet.

"W-wait," Eirika stammered, clutching her chest, trying to breathe deeply as her breaths only came rapid and shallow. She was cold and glistening with sweat.

"Didn't I tell you, princess? _Pain_ is the only pleasure! It feels so damn good to hear your misery. Now…how long will it be until you lose one of _these_?" Valter took her by the ear and pinched it, holding his bloody knife frighteningly close to her earlobe. "My guess is, oh, _two hours_. What's your guess, kitten? How long will it be until you _scream_ again?"

_How long? How long, brother, how long? Brother…I can't—I can't wait! Please!_

"I'll give you a fighting chance," the jailer said, snaking one of his large arms around her and urging her towards the stairway. He pulled her rapier from his chest and forced it into her right hand, curling her fingers around the hilt. "I'll give you a choice, if you want it. Fight or flee. Or surrender. I wanna see—I wanna see what happens when a little mouse is given wings and told to fly."

Valter pushed her forward until Eirika stood at the foot of the stair, below the last lit torch ensconced on the wall. Above her the staircase descended up into darkness. Eirika's eyes looked from the darkened stair back to where Valter was standing, licking his grayed lips with a serpentine tongue. For a moment her choice paralyzed her. Finally she was free, and yet when she looked up the stair into her freedom, she saw nothing but darkness, away from the comforting torchlight beside her.

_Even when I am not shackled, I am…a prisoner. Where do I go? Where do I run to from here?_

Eirika swallowed and tightened her grip on her rapier. The pain in her left hand and in her eye was beginning to make her feel near delirious. At last she decided that she could not stay there to rot in the dungeon forever. Before she had time enough to change her mind, she charged upwards, into the dark unknown.

- O -

Ephraim and his knights reached the grim, gray castle before the last light of day had escaped beyond the horizon line. Castle Genevese was an uninviting structure more reminiscent of a border fortress than a castle proper. It sat high on a hill, led up to by gravel paths that wound back and forth unnecessarily, leaving any visitors to languish in the shadow of the outer walls. The upper parapets were crenelated, and as Forde looked up, he could almost see the ghosts of sharpshooters with longbows leering down. There appeared to be no inner courtyard or citadel in the small castle and the small tower serving as the keep had crumbled away with disuse.

The castle had no gatehouse, only a small gateway leading towards the main hall; the gate itself had been removed and tossed onto the hill, left to rust on the side of the hill, buried in a swath of brush. A lone banner, part in tatters, flew above and to the right of the gateway on the end of a bronzed bar protruding from the stone—the banner was a golden eagle bearing a gold hammer in its talons with a bend azure on a background of imperial purple. On the wall to the left of the gate, where once a matching banner might have flown, sat only a bronze bar bent downward.

Ephraim and his guardsmen stood before the empty gate as the wind began to intensify, blowing through the chill twilight, quiet and ghastly.

"The castle seems as abandoned as any," Ephraim said. "The rumors were correct about that much at least."

Kyle drew his sword and nodded at Forde, who did the same.

"Milord, let us take the van," Kyle said. "If anyone were to be lying in wait."

"Very well," said Ephraim. He drew his short sword from his belt. "We'll enter in. But let us make _haste_."

Kyle lit a small torch and the three entered the darkened hallway. It was a small room, and the sconces on the wall were bare; indeed, it seemed as though the hall had been unlit and empty for years. There were no rugs welcoming entrants, no tapestries or paintings on the walls, no furnishings of any kind. On their own, the halls were labyrinthine enough. They searched each room quickly but cautiously, sweeping through pathways only narrow enough for one, into sitting rooms devoid of stools or chairs or tables and into what appeared to be a dining hall without eating implements.

"Damn it!" Ephraim said, when he was certain they were returning to a room they had searched before. "How are we intended to find anything in this darkness? It looks as though nobody has been here in years. Bloody hell!" The prince stamped his foot on the ground and a cloud of dust kicked up into the air.

Forde said nothing, but the feeling of dread that had plagued him before returned, stronger than before.

_What if it were just a rumor? If the imperials intended to mislead us by spreading these false rumors like wildfire and luring us in? It's so damnably _obvious_! Why would they have brought Eirika here? What if all this time we were being played as fools and the princess...oh gods...  
_

Ephraim and his knights returned into the dining area. There were empty wooden bowls strewn about the floor, and as Kyle inspected the ground closer with his torch, they noticed broken pieces of wood and a leg of what might have been a chair long ago. Forde ambled over to the far corner of the room, in a place that he believed was nearest the backside of the castle. He walked without purpose, running his hands along the wall, preoccupied by his thoughts, when his footfalls hit hollow on one part of the ground and he stopped.

"Kyle. Prince Ephraim," he said suddenly. "Oi! Come here! There's something odd here."

Kyle held the torch up against the wall, and sure enough, directly above where Forde's footsteps had rang hollow, the wall bore several words that seemed to have been scratched out in stone by an unsteady hand.

" '_Pres ston beloe_'" Kyle read, and gasped. "There, milord! At the base of the wall." He pointed to a small stone protruding out from the rest just above the hollow floor. Ephraim knelt down beside it, examined the engraving, and proceeded to push the stone with all his might. Forde, who knelt beside him, had to jump back out of the way as the floor caved downward to reveal a sharp decline, and, as was revealed when Kyle thrust his torch into the darkness, a small stair leading further downward.

"Hidden passages," Ephraim said. He turned to Forde and broke into what the blond knight could only describe as a relieved smile. "I should have expected something of the sort," continued the prince. "House Genevese was known for its many secrets. Let us hurry onward!"

The two knights carefully dropped down to the stair, followed by the prince, and began their descent. It seemed to last forever, with the stair occasionally winding to the left or to the right, sometimes circling one way or the other. At last the stairway ended, and gave way to a small lit hallway. The walls were gray and yellow and slightly slimy. There was no sound but for that of water dripping down from the ceiling. They had walked for quite a long while; by Forde's reckoning they were somewhere deep underground. At the end of the hall was another stairwell spiraling down, and near the end on the right sat a small stone door slightly ajar.

"It feels like a catacomb," Forde said. "Who could live in a place like this?" He felt a chill run down his spine and goose bumps prickle the flesh on his arms.

Kyle snuffed his torch and motioned towards the door. "There, milord?"

Ephraim nodded. "Aye, let's go."

Swords at the ready, Forde and Kyle charged into the room, and when they ascertained that no one else was present, they motioned the prince to follow them in. The room was small and cramped and appeared to be a bedchamber of some sort. A small mat of straw and down lay in the corner of the room near a small table crudely carved from wood. Beside the table, against the wet, stony wall sat three, long gnarled sticks that appeared to be walking sticks. Small pieces of wood were strewn across the floor, along with several daggers, some of them with twisted points or broken hilts. Otherwise, the room was empty but for a large stone slab lying against the left wall.

Ephraim wandered over to the bedding in the corner of the room and stifled a gasp.

"Gods and Goddesses, mercy," said the prince, falling to one knee. "This…this is Eirika's…" He clutched in his hand what appeared to be a teal skirt, and rolled it around in-between his fingers.

_Is that where Eirika has slept? _Forde thought._ Or where her captor has been sleeping? If so…why is he sleeping with her clothing? _

Forde shuddered. "Milord," said he.

"And here," the prince said, digging through the straw and feathers until he reached the bottom. He pulled out a familiar blouse with the teal and gold colors of Renais, and underneath that, a skin-colored corset meant to be worn as underclothing. He turned his eyes to the table and gasped when he saw what lay there, neglected as casually as a worthless trinket might have been: A familiar gold and silver bracelet with a crescent moon engraved upon it. Ephraim took it swiftly and placed it deep within his pocket. "These are Eirika's personal effects. There is no mistaking them. She is _here_, somewhere. But where is she?"

"Prince Ephraim," said Kyle. "Look at this block of stone. There are gaps on either side of it. Someone seems to have placed it here to bar the passage through."

"Then we'll push it aside," Forde said, furrowing his brow. "A hiding place means someone has something to hide."

The knights and Ephraim each lowered their shoulders and after a few seconds of effort the great stone block slid aside to reveal a small pathway. They passed through and were startled what was in the room on the other side. In sharp contrast to the chamber before, the room on the other side was tall and long and imposing, and against the walls on either side of them sat various implements of torture gathering dust and rust. Of them there were many, from iron maidens to torture racks, from sharpened rope to large stocks to grinding wheels and even what appeared to be a human-sized spit over a long-since burned-out pit of char three times larger than any Forde had ever seen before. In the middle of the hallway sat a metal table upon which was lain metal straps and chains and under which were sharp whips coiled up neatly and blunted bronzed sticks presumably used as prods.

"What…what sort of place is this?" Ephraim said. He looked around and sifted through the implements lying on the table, looked around at all the macabre devices around the room. "What did the Genevese family hope to accomplish by having these... gruesome implements here?"

The prince's musings were interrupted by a loud voice issuing from behind them.

"Well, well. So what have we here?"

Ephraim, Forde, and Kyle whirled around in the direction of the voice, hands on their swords.

"You!" Ephraim said as the wyvern knight called Valter stepped forth. He was dressed in his full wyvern knight's regalia, with a serrated spear slung over his back and a great bloody broadsword in hand. "You're the one we met in Renvall!"

"You have a good memory," Valter said, throwing his oily hair back. "So I suppose you came here looking for a fight, hm? A lion sulking in the birdhouse, is it?"

"What sort of twisted place is this?" Ephraim snarled. Beside him, Forde and Kyle stood at the ready, but Valter did not make to raise his weapon. He merely stood at the doorway, smiling smugly.

"I needed a quiet, faraway place to be alone…alone with time to myself to think. It took years to find my way back here, to a place where I would not be disturbed. I don't take too kindly to lesser creatures making their footfalls in my nest. This is _my _place now, mine alone! I only entertain the most amusing of little birds, the ones who would play for me. I love when they play for me."

"You…"

"Or perhaps you came here for another reason," Valter said. He fingered the hilt of his sword. "Maybe to find a little bird of your own. A bird with clipped wings, one that's easy to control. One to tease you, please you, play with your cock, tend to your fancies. Is that what you want, little prince?"

"_Where is she_?" Ephraim shouted. He held out the point of his sword. "Where have you taken her?"

Valter laughed. "Oh, but you do admire your beloved sister, do you? How droll seeing a lion befriending a little mouse. Yet—yet what if that little white mouse had been sullied, mm?" Valter began to step forth, and the two knights readied themselves. "What if that little white mouse had been turned gray? What if I had taken that little mouse and _violated_ her so thoroughly that she became little more than a fetid, gray _rat_?"

"You...what have you done with my sister? Tell me this now, fiend!"

"Oh, dear Prince Ephraim. Dear, dear, _foolish_ prince. When will you learn? I am her master. I am _your _master. _Master_! I am the master of the entire world. You are all just puppets meant to be controlled, yes, all of you! You exist only to entertain me. You live only to amuse me. I broke your beloved sister's fragile wings, _crushed_ them beneath my iron heel! And soon! Soon enough, Ephraim, I will _break_ you as well."

"You…you _bastard_!" Ephraim snarled.

Valter laughed. The prince and his knights stood in place as he laughed, first normally, then wildly, until his entire body shook strangely, and he threw his head back and laughed so loudly that Eirika feared that the walls of the castle above would crumble and fall down on their heads.

"A 'bastard', eh?" Valter said at last, his chest heaving. He bore his terrible teeth. "Ha! You couldn't know how right you are. You could never know, never understand! A _bastard_! That's right. Come, Ephraim. You and your little pets, all of you, _come on_! Will you give me what your cunt sister could not? A good fight? I'll make you all_ SCREAM_!"

Valter rushed forward, and his sanguine sword met Ephraim's in a scrape of steel and rust.

- O -

Eirika did not know where she was going or what she would do when she got there. The halls were dark and winding and each looked the same. The more she ran, the more lost she became. She was in a maze, a dark labyrinth of some sort, dimly lit by torches bearing flames that seemed to be struggling against their earthly bonds.

She wandered through the dark for what seemed like forever until she heard the voices, loud but indistinct, somewhere in the distance. She wandered sometimes slowly, sometimes swiftly, sometimes hearing the silent sorrowful sobbing of her shadow, always slinking right behind her, always making to escape whenever she turned her head. At last she heard loud, angry voices coming from above her, and when she squinted through the dim light, she could see a tiny metal ladder sitting against one of the many identical walls. It seemed almost to be calling to her.

_Am I…dreaming again?_

Eirika ascended the ladder and found herself in a strange room filled with what appeared to be implements of torture. At the far end of the room stood Valter in front of a doorway talking to three figures, each of whom had their back turned to her. The pain in her eye and in her finger still clouded her senses, so she crept closer, slinking past the torture racks and the wooden wheels that still almost stank of flesh, torn off and putrefying by the grinding of the mechanisms. She worked her way down the hall, keeping to the shadows where the torches could not touch. Finally she hid behind an iron maiden and looked around it, and when she did, she wondered if she still was dreaming.

There, standing down Valter with a sword in his hand, was her brother Ephraim, flanked by his loyal knights Kyle and Forde. Eirika had to cover her mouth with her hands to stifle a gasp upon seeing him, and again when Valter charged at him and their swords clashed. Despite wearing his heavy armor, Valter was admirably quick. His strikes were fast and relentless, and even when Forde and Kyle were able to land a strike on his armor, he shrugged the blows off without even seeming to react.

The reckless way Valter attacked—always driving forward with his feet, never staying still—contrasted sharply with Ephraim's steady style of swordsmanship, one he learned over years of practice from his Gradan teacher, Duessel. Though Eirika's brother was most adept with a spear, the prince also knew the benefit of swordplay, especially in close combat. So it was that Ephraim's spear remained slung over his back as he fought, trying to maintain his footwork even as Valter's brute strength threatened to overwhelm him, perhaps even crush him against the ground with every violent clash of blades.

The more they fought, the further back Valter drove Ephraim, closer and closer to the table near the center of the room. Every time Ephraim feinted, Valter brought his blade up as soon as the prince struck in earnest. Ephraim landed one slash across Valter's cheek, to which the reply was a gauntleted fist in his face, sending him reeling backwards. He clutched his mouth. Eirika had to restrain herself from running out to tend to him.

Kyle and Forde rushed at Valter and did not have any more luck than did their sworn liege; the wyvern knight bashed Forde's blade clean out of his hands with one downward blow and kicked him in the chest with his steel boot, and delivered a startlingly powerful backhand to Kyle's face, sending the green-haired knight tumbling to the floor.

"Is that all there is?" Valter screamed, stamping his foot against the ground. "Is this _it_? The great lion and his cubs defeated after a single charge? What is this bloody nonsense? I wanted a _fight_! If I won't have a fight, then I'll have a _slaughter_! I'll have a _hunt_!"

Ephraim had risen to his feet and spit out two of his teeth when Valter charged at him again, discarding his sword and charging at him with just a fist. Ephraim knelt low to the ground just as Valter was about to strike, transferring all his weight upwards and in one fluid motion, lifted Valter up into the air and launched him several feet backwards. Valter grunted angrily as he hit the ground, his metal breastplate clanking and rattling against the floor as he rolled. Then it was Ephraim's turn to initiate the offensive, striking repeatedly at the wyvern knight as he rose to his feet and backpedaled, barely dodging each of Ephraim's thrusts and slashes, until the small of his back was up against the large table in the center of the hallway, and Ephraim's sword was at his throat.

"This is the end," Ephraim said, blood trickling from his mouth where his teeth had been knocked loose.

"Oh?" said Valter casually. "I thought it was only the beginning." Valter reached out suddenly and grabbed Ephraim's wrist, forcing the prince's arm upwards driving the blade of the sword up past his throat, cutting a deep slash up his chin, slicing the wyvern knight's face down the middle. Valter only laughed as the blade sliced into him. Ephraim grunted in pain as Valter twisted his wrist, forcing him to relinquish his grip on his sword.

"You can cut me all you want, lordling," Valter said loudly, taking Ephraim's throat in one hand and turning his entire arm the wrong way with the other. Blood dripped down the face of the wyvern knight, onto his neck, onto his armor, onto the ground. "As deep as you want. As _much_ as you want, but _I_—I will never give up. _Never_. I have been granted unholy strength! I am stronger than ten of you, _Prince_ Ephraim! I am _invincible_!" He tightened his grip on Ephraim's throat, breathing death into the prince's darkening face. "But you, little lordling, are only human."

Eirika could only watch in horror as Valter held Ephraim, laughing, mumbling incoherent nonsense as her brother choked and scrabbled fruitlessly at his assailant's lobster-gauntleted hands. She squeezed her right hand and remembered the rapier she still held—her rapier, the rapier Valter himself had given her, the rapier with which he wanted her to hurt him.

She acted without thinking. Her mind was still a blank, her left eye near blind, her left hand aching beyond explanation, but still she moved with a sort of cunning she did not know she had. She crept onto the cold metal table before which Valter was standing, still breathing heavily, still laughing, lost in his own world as he watched Ephraim turn purple, perhaps as purple as the color of the banner of Grado, the banner of the House which Valter himself had sullied when he'd subverted it as his own little hideaway.

With whatever strength she had left, Eirika yelled out with a war cry that may not have been in her own voice, and put all her force behind a single, desperate thrust of her sword, two-handed, into the back of Valter's exposed neck. His cold laughter was replaced by empty gurgles, his words of wind replaced by blood. Eirika's brother finally pried Valter's hands free from his throat and stepped aside. At his last, Valter turned around, looking for his little birdling, his little charge, and for a moment she swore she could see him _smile_ at her. He toppled over to the side, eyes rolling back in his head, and died.

_Is—Is that the end? Is that the end for him? Is this how his sad life must end? In one blow? By my hand? Oh…oh, brother…_

The world spun around Eirika. She crawled, weakly, suffocating on her shallow breaths, and tumbled ungracefully off the torture table and hit the ground, rapier falling from her grasp and clattering to the stone. She rose slowly to her feet, dizzy, feverish. She saw her brother standing unsteadily before her, and his knights kneeling weakly down the hall. She felt her brother looking at her, looking at her bare form with shock and worry, looking at her eye, the bruises on her face, the finger that had been bent backwards on her left hand. For some reason she almost laughed.

Eirika wanted to explain, wanted to tell her brother everything that had happened, everything that she had said and done, wanted to tell him about her frightening dreams, wanted him to cleanse herself of the guilt, of the blood that now ran thick and red over her palms, but as she ran forward blindly, almost stumbling over her own feet, she threw herself into her brother's gentle arms and found no words, only sleep.

* * *

Author's Note: So, this chapter marks the end of the "Captivity Arc"…a very, very short "arc", to be sure. I _**promise**_ the chapters to follow won't be _nearly_ this horrifying, at least not in the same way these first three are. When I started this story, I honestly didn't intend to make these opening chapters have such a psychological horror edge to them. As it turned out, though, I find that Valter, throwaway character though he may be, is a lot more interesting when he's not just this simplistic bloodthirsty rapist type, especially considering we really only get to see bits and pieces of him at one time. Most of his actual backstory and whatnot I invented for the sake of this story (creative license and what-have-you) considering we don't learn much about him in-game, and I was surprised just how genuinely _troubled_ he turned out to be when left to his own devices in his little dungeon. He scares the shit out of me, for what it's worth. Although most of what Valter says is just the ramblings of a madman, not all of his words are the proverbial wind…

The bit of backstory Valter invents for himself (mother raped by bandits before his very eyes, father fleeing to save his own skin, etc.) is actually the backstory of the villain from _Suikoden II_, Luca Blight (an excellent villain from an excellent game, I might add.)

From here on in, Forde and Eirika and their journey to escape Grado and stay alive take center stage.


	4. The Rod and the Staff

_Chapter 4: The Rod and the Staff_

- O -

(Thanks again to Gunlord500 for beta reading!)

- O -

When next Eirika of Renais woke, it was in a dimly-lit room, lying on bed of straw and down. A woolen blanket had been laid atop her. Her face was covered in a cold sweat.

"Ah! You're awake."

Without sitting up or craning her head, Eirika knew it was her brother who had come to see her. His footfalls approached with startling alacrity and he knelt beside her, staring intently into her eyes with the look he always had whenever he was worried.

"Sister, are you well?" Ephraim asked.

"Brother," Eirika said weakly. Still groggy, she turned her head and smiled. "It's been…seems like forever. You are a comforting sight, as always."

Ephraim touched the back of his hand to Eirika's cheeks and then to her forehead. "You are still feverish. Here, I want you to drink this. It will make you feel better."

Eirika's brother gently tilted her head up with one hand and held a small blue bottle up to her lips. Eirika recognized it as the same type of special elixir her father used to give her for her fevers as a little child. She drank all of the viscous, slightly bittersweet liquid and wiped her lips dry. Then the prince brought to her a small canteen of ice-cold water, placed it against her dry lips, and let her drink until her thirst was finally quenched. Ephraim laid her head back down on her bed of straw and pulled her blanket up over her bare chest, stroking her warm cheek as he had done long ago, when they both were young.

"Brother, brother dear," she cooed, suddenly sentimental, tears forming in her eyes. She held up her arms to embrace him, but he was still too far away.

"Shh. Sleep now, Eirika. It is still night. When you awaken in the morning, we will speak as to what to do next."

Ephraim left her again, alone in the small room. Eirika gazed up at the stone ceiling, thoughts darting to and fro in her mind, until her eyelids closed and she passed into sleep. The fever dreams were less now, and when next her brother came to awaken her, she found that they were too cloudy and insignificant to remember.

"Eirika? Eirika, wake up," said Eirika's brother, gently shaking her awake. He knelt by her side until she had blinked the sleep from her eyes. She turned to him and found him smiling in the usual, calming way she had come to expect from him in better times. As children he would also oft wake her with his proud voice and boyish, sometimes silly smile. Most times she hadn't enough time to push off her bedsheets before Ephraim would hoist her up and impatiently carry her from her feathery perch, nightgown and all, towards a new day of play.

"It is morning," said Ephraim when Eirika finally woke enough to smile back. "Are you feeling any better?"

Eirika sat up and stretched her arms out to her sides. "Ah…ahm? Oh. Yes…yes, of course. I feel much better now than I had before. And—of course, now that you are here with me." Indeed, she felt more rested than she had during her entire time in captivity.

"I have your clothes," said her brother, handing her vestments to her. Looking away, he held his hand up to his sister's cheek. "Your face feels much cooler today. Good. Here, dress yourself and come out into the hall. We've much to discuss."

Ephraim turned and left the room. Now alone again, Eirika peered around the room. Simply being there and looking around gave Eirika a weird feeling, as though some darkness had magicked the chamber. In spite of its smallness, or perhaps because of it, the room felt eerily empty in a way that only underground, cobwebbed catacombs could. The floor was riddled with bits of broken wood and shards of metal, and beside the bed on which she lay was a small table, near which rested three gnarled walking sticks. A chill took hold of Eirika and shook her.

_I will be glad to take my leave of this place._

Eirika dressed herself and pushed aside the stone door of her room. Waiting in the narrow hallway, illuminated by the yellow-orange flicker of the torchlight, her brother and his men leaned against the walls.

"Princess Eirika," said Forde and Kyle in turn as she emerged, each bowing their heads.

"Well met, sirs," she said.

"It's good to see you are up and feeling better, Eirika," said her brother. "Once you have completely recovered, I would like to hear exactly how you came to be held captive here."

"It's all right," said Eirika, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "I should tell my story now, while we still have time to think."

Eirika flattened down her skirt and sat up against the wall, below a high-hanging torch. Ephraim sat across the floor from her, and Forde and Kyle beside him, and they each listened as Eirika told her story. As she did, the painful memories came charging back, but she neglected to mention nothing: She began with the death of General Seth and her witnessing of his end thereof; told of how she awoke in a dark cell, chained to the wall by hands, feet, and neck; told of her frightening, malnourished jailer and how he prodded and bruised her with his walking stick; told of how she had barely eaten or drank for days, how he had wounded her left eye and bent her finger backwards until it snapped; finally, she told them of how Valter had let her escape and how she came to reply his "favor" by making an unceremonious end to him with a sword thrust through his neck.

A stunned silence settled over the small hallway when Eirika had finished telling her tale.

"That must truly have been horrifying," Ephraim said at last. "And that is how your eye and your finger came to be injured?"

"Yes," Eirika replied. "I still cannot see well at all out of my left eye," she said, blinking. "And my finger still aches. Whenever I so much as brush another finger against it, it hurts so gravely. I wish it would stop…"

"You should see an apothecary or a sage as soon as possible," Kyle said. "Injuries to the eye can often become permanent if not treated with certain draughts or the effects of magic."

Forde chuckled dryly. "Kyle knows more of medicine and healing than I do, 'tis true."

"I am glad, at least, to know that you are largely unharmed," Ephraim said, rising slowly to his feet. "If that mad dog had made to steal your virtue, I would have—"

"Brother! Please, brother, stop," Eirika said, blushing slightly. "That is done with, now. I would rather not…dredge up those memories."

_I've already lost a father and a dear friend. Let us hope no more ill fortune befalls us._

"Forgive me, sister. I didn't mean to…well, regardless, we need to concern ourselves with getting out of Grado. A full-scale war has broken out. Renais has already been taken, and everywhere in Grado there are militias forming, soldiers sweeping here and there, arming whomever they can. I don't know how long Frelia will stay uninvolved, but I can tell you I don't expect Innes to sit on his haunches and fire arrows idly into the sky while world war breaks out."

_Innes, please, _Eirika thought._ Don't be a fool. Don't do something reckless._

"The emperor has likely ordered the border of Grado and Renais to be closely guarded," Forde said. "If the rumor of Eirika's presence here was accurately disseminated to the smallfolk, then surely the emperor and his army know of it. They would want to ensure that she does not leave. And likely even the border of Grado and Jehanna is fortified by this point."

Ephraim nodded. "Likely so. Although, surely they couldn't cover every inch of both borders. Most probably they would sacrifice guarding the border of Jehanna. All that said, the best course of action would be to go by sea. If we were to go west to Taizel—and if my knowledge of the land does not fail me, it should be no more than two or three days' ride—and gain passage on a ship to Bethroen, we could travel north up the high-ways to Frelia and the safety of the castle there. Hopefully Innes could be intercepted before he does anything mad."

"If the Empire's not stationed soldiers to inspect all vessels at the ports, that seems the most prudent course of action," said Kyle.

Ephraim nodded. "From all accounts, Grado sent the vast majority of their standing forces on the attack north. That was why they overcame the border guard and pierced through to our castle so quickly. If they were lacking either the element of surprise or the strength in numbers, there would have been no chance in the depths of hell that they could have taken the castle as swiftly as they did. My father was a trusting and generous man, but he was no fool, and our walls are not easily breached."

"Let's hope that is the case, then," Forde said. "And, of course, that they're letting ships pass through. If they've already barred ships from leaving or entering port…"

"That's a chance we'll have to take, then." Ephraim approached Eirika and took her hands in his. "But, Eirika…I've been thinking." The prince turned to his knights and back to his sister. "All things considered—I think it would be best if we were to split into two groups."

"Two groups?" replied Eirika. "But why?"

"Ah, how do I say this…a traveling group of four would attract a lot of suspicion moving about, particularly during wartime. We haven't the look of a merchant caravan or a mercenary company; if the commonfolk give in to paranoia and wonder why a large group is traveling through the countryside, they might set soldiers on us. There is no way we could hope to fight our way out from here, so traveling discretely would probably be best. And besides…"

Ephraim stepped back and his eyes turned away from his sister's. "To risk the end of our bloodline…if one of us were to…no, no, it is nothing." Ephraim shook his head and looked at his sister. He gave her the look she knew so well, the look that Eirika knew meant he was concerned for her, the look that was never absent from his face whenever she was in the slightest bit of trouble.

Ephraim reached into a fold of his light doublet and produced Eirika's silver bracelet. The crescent moon engraved upon it glimmered singularly in the light of the torch above her.

"Take this," he said, pressing the bracelet into her palm and folding her hands over it. "This is very important. Make sure that nothing happens to it." He lifted his arm and showed the sun-engraved bracelet he wore around his wrist.

"I-If you insist," Eirika said. She slipped it onto her wrists, which still felt unnaturally light now that they were free from her shackles. "But, brother, do you mean to say that you are going to leave me again?"

_Please, no…_

"Kyle and I will go one way. Forde!" Ephraim motioned to Forde, and he stepped forward, brushing his bangs back from his eyes.

"Yes, my liege?"

"From this moment forth, Forde of Renais, I entreat you with the safekeeping of my sister, Princess Eirika."

"Brother," Eirika said, voice rising with urgency.

"As my sworn man, I now beseech you to lend your blade to her service, to accompany her and guard her for as long as needed or until the time of your death."

"Brother, please!" Eirika stepped forward and clasped her hands. "Please, I—I only just saw you again, and I don't want—"

"I ask you now to lay thy sword and thy life for her," Ephraim continued, ignoring his sister, "and to swear again the oath to aid and serve the crown of Renais. Dost thou swear?"

_He _is_ serious. Oh, Ephraim, why must you be so obstinate? Why won't you listen to me?_

Forde knelt at Eirika's feet and laid down his sword, and she had to bite back her tears as her eyes flitted between Forde and the prince.

"Lady Eirika of Renais, I hereby swear my life and my blade to thee, as I have pledged my life to the crown. I pledge this oath in witness of the Goddess and her angels to protect and keep you until my dying breath. This said and done in the presence of Saint Latona, by my blood, by my body. _Ah shan_."

"_Ah shan_," Eirika murmured absentmindedly. Her prayers seemed to be falling further and further away from her; it seemed to her that the whims of the Goddess were taking away from her everything she held dear, one by one. Her prayers had not saved her father, had not saved Seth, had not saved her motherland, and it seemed now her brother, too, was being drawn away from her.

"Eirika. You and Forde should try to escape to Frelia. If you leave for Taizel now you should make good time. Two people should have little trouble finding passage on a ship, even if it is only a space on a cargo hold in a merchant vessel. Kyle. I wish you to accompany me east, towards the capital. I need to find out why. Why Emperor Vigarde attacked our country. Why Lyon would abide by such a decision. Why they have killed my father."

"Brother, is there nothing I could do to dissuade you from this? If we could run away together, brother…why would we not at least _try_?"

Ephraim shook his head. "This is something I must do, Eirika. I could not live with myself if I did not take it upon myself to solve this mystery." He took his sister's shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes, then embraced her. "We will meet again. We split up now with the knowledge that we will reunite, someday. This I promise."

"Ephraim," said Eirika solemnly, nestling her head against Ephraim's shoulder. "I will live for you. Let us meet again, when all this is over. When peace one day returns to its rightful place in Magvel…then…then we will be together again. All of us…just like old times. Isn't that true?"

"Yes, sister," said Ephraim, stroking her hair. "Yes. Soon."

Ephraim pulled away and took Eirika's rapier from its place on his belt. "Here is your sword. Remember what I taught you about fencing. If a time ever comes that you must defend yourself, do not hesitate."

_I did not hesitate when I killed Valter…I had never killed before and yet I killed him without a second thought. Does that make me a monster as well?_

"Sir Forde, take this." Ephraim handed Forde a large brown sack and several phials of elixir. "There should be about two thousand gold in that bag. That should be enough to purchase the services of a healer and some new clothing. You must needs find a tailor and buy some nondescript clothes; it would attract too much suspicion going as you are, even with your cloaks."

"Aye, Prince Ephraim."

"I think that should be all," said the prince. "We shouldn't tarry here any longer. The emperor's forces surely have heard the rumor and come to investigate this old castle. I'll be glad to leave these hallways behind regardless. This place has all the feeling of a crypt."

Together, they climbed up the long, winding staircase, with Forde and Kyle taking the lead and Eirika following behind them, her arm locked with her brother's. Soon they had found their way through the unlit halls and to the entryway, where the gate still rested on the hillside. A rush of cold air greeted them as they stepped into the outside. The sun shone brightly through a light cloud cover, but a cold wind blew through on the hill and swirled around.

They traveled down the winding pathway to the bottom of the hill. A small dirt path stretched out to the west and to the east, at the base of the large tree where the knights' horses were tethered. At that otherwise empty crossroads, the prince and princess stood with their sworn men.

"I will see you soon," said Ephraim.

"Promise me," said his sister. "Promise me again that you will return."

"I promise you. Forde, keep her well."

"Aye, I have sworn my life to her, Prince Ephraim. I'm not usually one for such formality, but I don't mean to go back on my oath. I won't fail at this. Promise."

"Keep yourself well, princess," Kyle said, bowing. "And stay alert at _all times_, Forde, hm? Farewell."

"Farewell, Forde. And Eirika, my dear sister." Ephraim kissed her on the forehead. "Until we meet again."

Eirika and her retainer Forde stood silently and watched as Kyle and the prince set off east on Kyle's charger, and soon enough disappeared into the horizon.

"Princess Eirika," Forde said at last, turning to the princess. He untied his horse and sifted through his pack. He withdrew a dull brown cloak and brushed it off. "You have my word. As long as I draw breath, I will ensure that no harm comes to you. You need someone to lean on, and I'll stand beside you. You can count on me."

"Thank you, Sir Forde," Eirika said, still staring off into empty space. Her teal skirt and teal hair billowed in the cold wind. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him, and was almost surprised to see that he too was looking somewhere far off in the distance.

"If I may, milady?" Forde said, draping the cloak over her shoulders.

"Thank you, sir."

Forde took another cloak from his pack and slung it around his shoulders, then removed a second saddle and placed it behind his on his courser's back.

"Milady, shall we depart?" he said, when he had finished, extending his hand to her.

Eirika turned and looked back at the gloomy gray rampart that stood, crumbling on the hill but still stubbornly standing, just as the jailer had even to his last. For reasons Eirika could not explain, she felt a soul-piercing sadness watching the castle that should well have been a mere fortress, abandoned and in disrepair, a worthless structure that nonetheless lived. It was a grave for at least one, and, Eirika reckoned, a fitting grave for more. She felt a chill wrack her body, beyond that brought on the cold west winds.

_What a waste. Why must castles and people fall into disrepair? What is it that makes stories such as these have such bitter endings? Is this the way of the world? Will the rest of Grado and Renais look like this once we've finished killing one another? Does the world actively aspire to pit brother against sister forevermore?_

"Milady?" Forde repeated gently.

"Ah—yes," said Eirika finally, and took Forde's hand to help her up into the saddle. "Thank you, Sir Forde," said she, and they began to ride.

- O -

The wind was harsh enough standing still, but riding on into the furious face of a cold afternoon breeze was worse still. Forde had to keep a hand near his face to avoid having his breath sucked away by the gales; behind him, Eirika clung tightly to his clothing, with her face pressed up against his back to shield her.

_The princess must still be devastated._ Forde thought._ Meeting her brother again and having to watch him go his own way._

They rode westward for about an hour, across the dirt road, and the wind and clouds began to gave way to bright sunshine.

"I want to thank you, Sir Forde," the princess said out of nowhere.

"What for, my lady?"

"For protecting my brother."

Forde chuckled. He stroked his horse's mane. "Ah, that? It was nothing, milady. To be quite honest, he was the one who saved my hide most of the time. I may be a knight, but when it comes to spearwork, I'm not even in the same league as Prince Ephraim. And his swordsmanship is far more refined than mine."

"I…don't mean in that way," Eirika said softly. The talk of fighting and the art of war had made her discouraged again. "I mean, surely you kept his recklessness in check. My brother can be…ah…rather stubborn at times. He needs someone to be the voice of reason."

Forde grinned, though Eirika could not see. "Most of the time, that duty fell to Kyle or Orson."

"Orson," Eirika said. "That's—that's right, Sir Orson. He…was not with us earlier. Did…is he…"

"I'm afraid he is no longer with us," Forde said after a moment's awkward silence. "When we were fleeing through the Great Forest, he fell behind, and—well, he never caught up to us after that. I didn't think I should concern you with that, milady. Forgive me."

_Let's hope this is the end of all this suffering. A young lady shouldn't have to see everyone she cared for taken away, _Forde thought.

"I am sorry," said Princess Eirika. "But that there were something I could do…"

She tried to say more, but all she could utter was a weak sigh.

"Do not blame yourself, milady. None of this should be your charge to worry about. If any of us had known, after all—well, we'd have done a few things differently, I'll say that much. It's because we were taken unawares that Renais was taken so swiftly. I don't think anyone wanted to believe that Grado would take arms against us."

"Oh, Father…"

Under different circumstances, Forde might have broached the subject of Sir Seth and went on about his virtues, how the general had mentored him and tested his mettle thoroughly whenever they crossed swords. But he thought better of it, and instead kept his silence. He didn't wish to remind his charge the princess of those awful dredges she was most likely trying to keep buried in her memory. Neither did he wish to think about it. Sorrow always made Forde sleepy, and he was slumberous enough as it was.

The Gradan landscape was quite flat along the roadway, though both south and north, the green hills seemed to roll a bit more, and it was clear by the way the path wound and curled that it followed the flattest part of the land. At times the path turned due south to curl around the base of a large hill, on which rested the remains of an old hill fort, once manned by the Old Gradans as they fruitlessly tried to stem the tide of Southland invaders from beyond the seas, long, long ago. Soon the path corrected itself and again turned due west towards the slowly setting sun, but the scars of war still marred their way: Broken wooden barricades and makeshift battlements overgrown by long grass, stone walls systematically torn asunder by the elements and time, and even rusted-over sickles and scythes, half-buried in the ground and swallowed by the undergrowth, remained where once the agrarian Gradans took arms against the invaders. At one rather isolated point along the path Forde saw the broken shaft of an axe beside a crude flail, and scattered beside them, greyed chips of bone in different sizes and shapes; perhaps two brothers on opposing sides had sat there together to die in unity, Forde mused.

_I'm walking through hundreds of years of history,_ Forde thought dryly, yawning as they rode on. _And all of it is war._

Forde knew more about history and the sciences than he liked to let on, and in fact more than most of the sirs and dames serving in armies across Magvel did. His father had been not only a great champion for Renais but a scholar in his spare moments, and Forde, like his little brother Franz, had found his father's modest library a place of wonderment. At first the history books were just a means of finding inkings of exotic landscapes—the foreign sands of Jehanna, the sparkling seascapes of Frelia and the cold northern reaches of Rausten. He'd sit with his valuable sheet of sketching paper and a crude pencil and duplicate what he saw. As he grew older, he switched to paints, and soon the colors which he'd only imagined sprung to life on his canvasses. But his dear mother had taught him to read, and after she'd died and he'd taught his little brother Franz to read in turn, Forde returned to the history tomes and the biographies of the great heroes of Magvel and looked at the words, and found himself learning of the people and the purposes and all the things that happened in the landscapes he'd painted.

History had always been alive to him, breathing and speaking and reaching out to him, and the more he learned, the more Forde learned how simple he really was. But still it was all alive to him, and as he rode, princess in tow, through the war-torn lands of Grado, he saw the other side of history. Even without seeing any torn limbs or skeletons lying in shallow graves, Forde could feel the deadness, from the distant shadow-forests to the north and the screaming marshlands to the south, from the ground below and even from the grey-blue skies above. It was the kind of deadness he'd once wanted to believe never existed on their fair Magvel. He knew better than that now.

Forde only shook his head and smiled without saying anything more.

When twilight fell, the knight and the princess found a small grove to camp under, and at the first break of dawn they woke and set off again. The path went southwest, and so they followed it along as the land seemed to fall off, and Forde was certain that they were quite nearing their destination, even as the smoky horizon obscured their view of the far bay.

Sometime in the early afternoon, when the wind had died down and the cloud cover gave way to a bright sky, Forde called his princess to attention.

"Are you feeling well, princess?"

"Mmm? As well as could be," she answered, and Forde could hear the distance in her voice.

"We should come upon Taizel soon enough," he said. "Perhaps two days further and we should have made arrive there, milady. From there, we'd best find a tailor to fit us with clothes more suiting simple travelers as us."

"If you feel that is best, then very well."

"Also, maybe I'm just being a bit too cautious, but maybe we should adopt some aliases while we travel through. Doubtful we would find many little common girls named Eirika running around, and while I'm almost positive that no one in Grado has heard of my not-quite-legendary exploits, it's probably best for me to adopt a fake name as well."

"I trust your good judgment, Sir Forde."

"Well, let's see then. Who could we believably be? I suppose we could be…two mercenaries? Erina and Gilder? No, no, no one would believe that we were mercenaries…us, mercenaries? Who would think of that as an explanation? Hmm…I suppose we could be merchants, but we don't exactly have wares to peddle, nor do we have a wagon to carry them in. Ah…heh. It figures I would run out of ideas. Do you have any suggestions, milady?"

Eirika paused a moment and looked at the southern horizon where the overgrown fields seemed to stretch forever.

"Milady?"

"Perhaps….just, travelers," she said, sighing. "Travelers displaced by war, forced to move on. It isn't entirely untrue…"

_It most certainly isn't…with Renais fallen, we've no home, do we? I wonder if Franz got to Frelia safely?_

"That sounds like a plan to me, Princess Eirika," said Forde, nodding. "And what about our assumed names?"

"Ah…Mila," Eirika said. She coughed several times and pressed against Forde's back. "She was one of my handmaidens."

"I see."

_She probably couldn't escape the castle, _Forde thought with an involuntary shudder. Terrible visions of what might have happened to the young woman flashed unbidden through his mind's eye.

"Ah, well then," he said, turning back briefly to smile at the princess. "As for my name…hm, let's see…er…all right, what do you think of 'Scholteheim Reinbach III?'"

"Um…" replied Eirika gently, in a way that made it unmistakable what she thought about it.

"Touche," Forde said, laughing. From someone as polite as Princess Eirika, a pregnant pause was as good as a scoff; Kyle would have called him a fool, and Ephraim would have in no uncertain terms told him that he was full of shite. "That sounds too much like a noble's name, doesn't it? I couldn't pass for a blue blood if you gave me a cravat _and_ a teacup. Let me think…well, what about Ulysses? I've heard that's a common name among Gradans."

"Yes, all right. I am Mila and you are Ulysses."

"Since that's the best I can think of, those will have to serve." Forde yawned. "When we get back to Frelia, we can bother with thinking up better false names. I've heard they are quite useful in, er, numerous different occasions."

"I see."

After a while of riding, they stopped in the middle of a small field to share some rations, which they ate in silence. Then they were off again, riding until the afternoon had passed and the evening came into full blossom. Forde was beginning to wonder where next they should camp when he noticed a plume of smoke rising into the distant western sky.

"Milady," he said, and tapped the princess, who had apparently fallen into silent slumber, on the shoulder. "There is a village ahead in the distance. We should be able to make it in no more than an hour's time."

It indeed took slightly less than sixty minutes to arrive at the outskirts of the village. The smoke far off in the distance, they found, had come from a great bonfire just outside the village gates. However, unlike at a festival, where Forde might have expected to find people roasting meat and sitting around the flame warming their hands, there was no one in the area, and not a single lantern shone from any of the small houses. In fact the great bonfire felt strangely cold to him, and as he tethered his horse and he walked with the princess towards the village proper, Forde felt a chill come over him walking in the wake of the blaze.

_In times of war, every fire seems a funeral pyre…_

With nothing but a small torch to light their way, Forde and Eirika walked down the dirt path, past several small hills and valleys, past pens of livestock and small thatch huts and disheveled cottages in miniature. At a point the path diverged to the north and south, and before them on the far west hill stood the largest house in the hamlet. Like the rest, its facade was cold and stony and its windows were unlit, but it was the only standing structure around that bore a second story and a door sturdy enough to withstand the force of one's breath.

With Eirika standing at his back, Forde rapped on the door and waited for an answer. When he received none, he knocked again, and the wind had begun to pick up again when finally a dim light shone from a window and Forde heard the sound of footfalls.

The door opened halfway and a man who looked about forty, perhaps nearing fifty appeared there, stepping cautiously and slowly towards the outdoors. He held a great metal axe tightly in both hands, and behind him, a woman held up a swaying oil lantern that cast a strange orange-yellow light over his face.

"Who are you?" he said. The look in his eyes and the grave way he spoke gave Forde the impression that he hadn't grabbed the axe to cut lumber.

"We mean you no harm, sir," Forde said quickly, and put his hands up in the air briefly. Eirika did the same. "We are unarmed travelers. Our—our village was put to ruin and we are in need of a place to rest. A-Are you the mayor of this town?"

The man looked the princess and the knight over carefully and presently answered, "That I am. Whence've you come?"

"From—ahh…" Forde paused and frantically tried to remember the name of the village he'd passed through with Ephraim. "Glenshire, sir. We were just able to flee before Renais soldiers set upon the commons. Please, we are cold and tired. _Please_, I beg of you," he added quickly, before the mayor had time to consider the story or sniff out any lies. Forde's voice was ringed with desperation; he didn't need to feign it.

The mayor looked quickly back at the woman behind him, who nodded silently in the wake of the lantern's glow.

"Fine," he said. "Latona'd send me to the hellfires and ne'er bless me if'fn I turned away a countryman'n need. E'en if 'tis ten a' the bloody clock. Well, come in, man, come in."

"Thank you," Eirika said weakly, and Forde concurred.

The inside of the mayor's home was dark and the fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, but the comfort of its walls was like the warmth of paradise to them.

"We can repay your kindness, sir. We've a few coins left to give if—"

"Don't worry 'bout that now," the mayor replied. "Jeanne, lead the guests in'na barn. They c'n sleep in'na hay."

"A'course, dear," replied the mayor's wife quietly, and with a polite nod to Forde and Eirika, she turned and walked across the room. Princess and knight followed. The woman named Jeanne led the two through a small hallway and subsequently into a large barn. The place was empty and its great doors shut. Only the faint smell of animals lingered; what else remained amounted to little more than a few rusted tools and a large steel pitchfork hooked onto the wall, and many large bales of hay piled against the far walls.

"Y'may sleep here," said she.

"I thank you for your kindness," Forde said, turning to her. In the dim light of the lantern, Forde could make out nothing but her troubled, wrinkled countenance and the sorrowful glimmers of light playing in her hazel eyes.

"And I as well," Eirika said.

As quickly as she had come, the woman named Jeanne left, and Forde and Eirika found themselves alone. The princess stumbled, near-delirious, towards the nearest pile of hay and collapsed there, and Forde, himself too tired even to think, found a comfortable bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

That night, Forde dreamt of conquests, conquests past and conquests present. He dreamt he was there many hundreds of years before, watching the Old Gradans fight their losing war against the berserkers of the Southlands. He dreamt he was at the side of the fallen King of Renais, fighting an angry tide of invaders cascading in and laying him low. He dreamt he was once again at Ephraim and Kyle's side, but this time they met up with the princess, a knight and warlord in her own right, and together they cut a bloody swath through the heart of Grado's forces, laying siege to the great imperial capital, and slaying the mad emperor Vigarde themselves. Perhaps it was the absurdity of charging into an enemy capital with such a small force and emerging victorious, or perhaps merely the passage of time, but Forde awoke, and when he sat up, he found himself able only to sigh and shake his head. He clenched his empty hands together, then he clenched his eyes shut and could almost still hear the obstreperous sounds of war surrounding him, boring insistently into his ears, riling up his spirit.

_Another day closer to leaving Grado._

He climbed to his feet and brushed the hay from his clothing. Quietly, he looked around the barn, finding nothing, and rubbed his chin where the hair was beginning to grow stronger and thicker. He was walking around, looking for the place where Eirika had fallen asleep, when he heard her call to him weakly.

"Milady?" he said, and presently found where Eirika was lying, and fell to one knee beside her.

"I-I'm feeling quite ill," she said, and hearing her speak and cough, Forde knew at once it was true. Looking at her face made it all the more plain. He brushed her turquoise bangs away from her eyes. Eirika's face was startlingly pale and her eyes wavered between open and closed. She reached her hand up to touch Forde's and her fingers were cold and clammy. "I…my body…aches…"

_Oh no, _Forde said, and when he thought, _this isn't good, _he knew that he was understating things.

"Stay there," he said gently. "I will go see if there is a physician or a sage here."

"For…give me."

Wasting little time, Forde went to the side of the barn and went out the small doorway he'd entered the night before. Through a small covered walkway, he then found himself in the dining-room of the mayor's house, and he noticed that already the family had gathered around the wooden table to break their fasts. The mayor and his wife sat there, and beside them sat a young girl of no more than six and ten holding something in a bundle of blankets in her arms. When she saw Forde, she turned away and rapped her fingers rapidly against the table.

"G'morning," said the mayor, his cold violet eyes barely meeting Forde's. "I trust yer'll be leavin' soon?"

Now in the early morning's light, Forde could see more clearly his benefactors. The mayor was a rather average-sized man with a ring of graying black hair around his bald pate. His nose was strong and stubby and his chin was rounded and lashed with stubble. He wore little more than rags—a tattered tunic dirtied with dust and tar and battered coal-black breeches—and neither his wife nor his daughter seemed to fare much better with their apparel. Both the women wore modest white dresses grayed by the passing of time, worn and tearing at the shoulders. Mother and daughter shared the same long, pumpkin-orange hair and concerned expression; the young girl, still clutching possessively onto the bundle in her arms, turned away shyly from the newcomer whenever he looked her way.

"I'm sorry," replied Forde. He bit his lip. "But it seems that milad—er, m'companion…er, 'Mila', has fallen quite ill. Please, is there a doctor here in this village? Even a leech?"

The mayor's wife looked down at the table, and to Forde's surprise, the mayor regarded him with a scowl.

"Bloody well there inn't, not a'more. An' if yer lass friend is ill, she innit the only one. We've no help f'r you. And you can't stay here."

_He'd make us…leave? Like that?_

"Thomas," said his wife, almost as if pleading. The mayor said nothing. Then, for the first time, Forde heard their young daughter speak.

"Please, father. If these people're truly in need, then…"

"After what happened…do y'even remember, Melissa?" Thomas said. He poked absently at his gruel with a splintered wooden spoon. "What we had't go through? We couldn't e'en help ourselves, and y'want us to help s'm people we don't e'en know?"

"Are you goin' to just turn 'em away, then? If they came here look'n f'r help, then…"

"Damn it, 'lissa!" Thomas said, and pounded the table with his fist. He looked past Forde to the far wall and stared at it as though he'd been petrified. "We—we can't. Roderick couldn't do anythin' t'stop…t'stop…you know…an'…an' now he's dead. No, no one else'll die in Cymrus, not while I'm still around." He finally looked up at Forde. "Sorry, y'll have t'leave here. Y'll find naught in the way of help here, lad. Ill or not, you n' yer lass friend have to leave."

"I-It's all right…Ulysses."

Everyone in the room turned around and Forde was shocked to see Eirika enter the room, her head hung, clutching her forehead.

"I-I'm sorry to…to inconvenience you, sir," she said to the mayor, who looked on her pallid countenance with widened eyes. "I…I don't want to start a quarrel here. We—my friend…and I…we can leave now."

"_Father_," said the mayor's daughter Melissa, this time with more urgency. The mayor himself had a pained look on his face and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Forde was afraid his entire visage might crack and shatter there and then.

"How d'you feel, girl?" Thomas said, looking directly at the young princess, who looked back.

"I…I'm…" Eirika paused and an unusual silence fell over the room. Through the thin glass windows, the morning sun was steadily rising, and a warm orange glow filtered into the room. Suddenly it seemed as though the whole room was illuminated and all its grim, shadowed secrets had been cast out. Eirika's legs tittered and she fell to her knees, hair tumbling askew, and rested her head in her hands. She took a deep, long breath, her chest rising and falling. "I feel…cold."

Forde turned from Thomas to Eirika, and back to Thomas again. The mayor let out a deep, long, sigh, and when he was done, he rose to his feet with alarming speed.

"Jeanne. Go to Vale's house and see if he's anything in store to treat the winter sickness. Melissa, the girl'll sleep in your bed 'till she's better. Oi, you, lad!" Thomas nodded his head at Forde. "Carry the lass up to the loft. Oi, oi, and don't tarry any!"

"Then…you'll let us stay?" asked Forde.

"Stop askin' bloody questions and bring her up." Still shaking his head, Thomas picked up an axe. His jaw was clenched tight and his free hand was curled into a fist. "I'm goin' out to cut some wood. When you've tended t'yer friend, yer going't help me. I'll not have you stayin' in Cymrus wi'out liftin' your share a' the load."

With nothing else to say, the mayor left his house after his wife.

"Thank you," Forde muttered, nearly dumbstruck, after Thomas had already gone away.

"I-I'll show you t'yer—er, my room, serr," the girl named Melissa said. Forde lifted the princess up and had her drape her arms around his shoulders, and, with the princess clinging tightly to his back, he followed the young mayor's daughter around a corner to a ladder that led to a higher floor above.

"That up there's m'dwellins'. Lay her on th' bed a' down up there. I've—I've a little trainin' in physic but not enough. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," Forde said, before he ascended. "That means a lot to us. Thank you."

Forde carried Princess Eirika up to the loft and laid her on the bed of down where once Melissa apparently had slept. When he had laid her down, he pulled the blanket up over her and looked sadly upon her.

"Is there anything I can do for you, mil—Mila?" he asked, as Melissa stood beside him.

Eirika looked up at him with glassy eyes. "I'm sorry, Ulysses."

"Don't apologize. If we could control our sicknesses, we'd all be a lot better off. Just stay here and rest until you get better." Forde turned to the young girl standing beside him, who still held a bundle in her arms against her chest. "Please take good care of her."

The girl called Melissa had to stifle a giggle. "Don't worry, serr, I'll try'n to make your ladyfriend as comf't'rble as poss'ble."

_Ladyfriend?_ Forde thought, and he cracked a little smile.

"Thank you," said he, and descended down the ladder. When next he stepped forth into the sunlight, holding his sandy cloak to his body as a chill breeze swept through, Forde was overcome by a sudden sense of dread. The village of Cymrus was largely unremarkable for a country hamlet. It seemed to be neither a center of trade nor even a stopping point for travelers passing from the capital to the western port. There were no shops or wagons filled with goods, no stone storefronts along cobbled roads, and barely a structure sitting taller than ground floor. The only thing remarkable Forde could see was in fact the lack of anything to be marked. The air was utterly silent and as he looked around, Forde could see not a single other person anywhere in any direction down the roads. Only the birds and the swift phantasmal wind made any sound at all. Even as townships went, Cymrus was sleepier than most, and for as far down the road as the traveling knight could see, there wasn't a single house with a light on or a door left ajar. North and south, east and west, the town seemed nothing but dead, and though he knew he should give thanks that there were few around to question their true identities, Forde couldn't help but feel melancholy walking amongst nothing at all.

_I hope the princess's ill humors don't last long. By now the imperial forces…no, we simply must need to wait. That's all. As long as we don't do anything too foolish to reveal ourselves, we should be all right. And if they're also looking for the prince…_

Forde shrugged and set off to the north, in the direction of the grove where he'd assumed Thomas the mayor had left for.

_Can't worry about that now. If the bridge isn't already burnt, we'll cross it when we get there. We just have to keep going. That's it._

- O -

Princess Eirika had, like many, many others, been beset by common colds and other illnesses often through her childhood. Oftentimes, to her chagrin, she caught an illness during one of her trips to visit Tana and Innes in Frelia, or Lyon in Grado, and was bedridden. She had always felt that she was more susceptible to illness than was her brother, but when she thought about it, Ephraim generally found ways to be out and about even when ill, to the point that on several frightening occasions, King Fado needed to drag his son in after he'd finally succumbed to fatigue. His rashness had diminished somewhat, but the memories of Ephraim coming in, near-delirious with fever, lance in hand, having shouted down a bitterly cold rainstorm, were not easily banished from her mind.

She had suffered illnesses like those in the past, but none so serious as the one that saw her confined to the featherbed of a complete stranger, the ail called the winter sickness. Her entire body ached, but her face and her head most of all, to the point that the throbbing in her head clouded her vision. Chills ran through her body, she felt flushed and weak, and she almost couldn't breathe with all the congestion in her nose, in her face—she felt as though a storm cloud had settled over her face and taken root, angry and merciless like a swarm of brambles or vines.

"I'll do anythin' I can f'r you."

Eirika opened her eyes to see the mayor's daughter kneeling at her side. She held a small bundle of pink blankets in her arms near her bosom, and at her side she had a small leather pouch, which jingled and tickled whenever she shifted.

"M'name is Melissa," she said jovially.

"Melissa?" Eirika said and she could feel her throat rage against her when she spoke. "I am…ah, M-Mila."

"Mila? Please'n t'make your acquain'ce," Melissa said, with a small curtsy and a giggle. "Wish'n we could've met under a better star."

"Yes, as—as I."

"You'll have't excuse my father. He's'n been a'edge lately. Things ha'n't been great around here lately, but believe'n you me, it innit my father's way't leave anyone out'n'na cold. My father mayn't talk'n so kind, aye, but he's a nice heart, so forgive 'im 'is trespasses—as Latona says—if'n it pleas'n you, a'course."

Eirika looked up. The mayor's daughter had soft, soothing hazel eyes and soft, rounded cheeks lashed with pink. She had freckles here and there about her face and several strands of her pumpkin-colored hair fell about her eyes and nose. Even her smile was gentle and mollifying.

"I-I understand," said Eirika, groaning as another wave of pain surged through her face, from her head to her sinuses. It was as if her face was about to collapse under its own weight. She rubbed her temples. "Would that I needn't inconvenience you further…"

"Oh, Mila, please'n don't think that way. It inn't your fault you came about the winter sickness. Well, it shouldn't be your fault, at any rate. You needn't worry a'more about'n bein' a bother. We dn't cast out a sick girl b'cause'n she happened t'stumble a'our doorstep. S'please don't you worry a'more."

"Yes."

"I've some herbal remedies what f'r makin' y'feel better some," Melissa said. She set down her bundle of blankets gently on the floor of the loft and rustled around in her leather satchel, eventually finding a small phial of milky-grey liquid. "I'ven't an awful lot left, but whate'er I've f'r the takenin' you can have. F'r the winter sickness, this should do swell. "

Melissa lifted up Eirika's head and pressed a small phial up to her lips. The draught was bitter and tasted of medicinal roots and unfamiliar herbs; when she finished drinking, an odd sensation of cold remained on her tongue and in the sides of her mouth.

"That sh'd do y'right," said Melissa. "Th' rest'f our villagefolk all know well the best way t'treat the stubborn sickness—ahm, beggin' y'r pardons, that's what m'father calls the winter sickness, as it oft comes fr'm stubbornly stayin' out'n the cold a'long. I'm sure ye've not done anythin' to deservin' it, I dinn't mean't say that." She made a little curtsy.

"It's all right," said Eirika. Her hostess took the bundle from before in her arms and held it close. "If you don't mind the inquiry, what…is it that you're holding?"

"A'this?" Melissa said. She laughed and her hair swooshed back and forth. She held the swath of blankets and turned it for Eirika to see, though through her clouded eyes she could barely see at all. "This is m'li'l joy. M'beau'ful l'il baby boy."

"Your…boy?" Eirika said, coughing. "Your…child?"

"Yes'm. M'own child." The girl bit her lip and looked down at the child in her arms. "M'own blood n' sweat n' tears. M'beau'ful boy."

"So young, and yet a mother…" Eirika mumbled. She felt her eyes drooping. "That must be…oh, so hard."

"Oh, don't'n you worry y'r mind naught a bit a'that. Just rest now, n' be well."

Eirika set her head back on the pillow and listened to Melissa's footsteps grow quieter and quieter until the sound faded into nothing and she was alone in the darkened loft. She closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.


End file.
